


The Fifth Blight Book II: Allies of the Grey

by Nardhwen



Series: The Fifth Blight [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Friendship, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 113,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24582328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nardhwen/pseuds/Nardhwen
Summary: The Grey Wardens continue their journey to gather allies and stop the Blight from engulfing all of Ferelden. More dangers await them along the way—from expert assassins to cursed werewolves, and witches—as they pick up more skilled fighters to join their cause. Meanwhile, Alistair and Everil seek comfort in each other's arms as they struggle to save a broken kingdom. RnR pls!
Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age)
Series: The Fifth Blight [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777012
Kudos: 12





	1. Journey to Denerim

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. This second book in my The Fifth Blight Series. Check out my profile for the first book if you haven't read it yet :). Once again, this is a retelling of the story from the Human Noble origin, but it is not a word for word retelling. I took some liberties modifying the story to suit my needs and adapt some historical accuracy. Please drop me a review if you liked it :). No flames please, aside from constructive criticism.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or its characters. This is fanwork and meant only for fun.

⚜

_ L _ _ oghain leaned back in his chair, _ gently swaying the red wine inside a chalice while gazing at it with disdain, his reflection staring back at him. He was still not used to all the flourish of nobility, even after thirty years of involving himself in politics. He missed the farmlands and wondered how simple life would have been if the Orlesian Empire hadn't occupied the country so long ago. Perhaps he'd be just some nobody still. A man whose name meant nothing when compared to what he'd become after helping the then Prince Maric reclaim his throne. It was strange to ponder now. Sitting in what was once his best friend's chair.

A knock drew his attention away from his musings. “Enter.”

The door opened and in came Hawe, his hawkish features twisted with worry. “My lord, I bring news.”

“Speak, then.”

He shifted nervously under his severe stare. “The darkspawn are advancing. We have lost many minor villages and farmlands to their raids. I fear that... with the civil war, we might not have enough manpower to battle their numbers. Perhaps we should—”

“Father!” 

A blonde woman clad in a fine, purple dress barged into the room, stalking her way towards Loghain and pinning him with a glare. “My people are dying out there. Shouldn't we be fighting the Blight instead of each other?” 

Loghain took a drink, then calmly regarded his daughter. “We must bring the nobility into line first and then we may gather our forces to replace those lost at Ostagar.” He shook his head, waving her off. “This is no true Blight, Anora. Only Cailan’s vanity demanded it be so.”

She sighed, a frown over her youthful features. “Father, Ferelden cannot face this crisis alone. Cailan was right. We should seek Orlesian aid.” 

“No!” He slammed a fist down onto the chair's arm, startling the two standing in the room. “Maric and I drove those bastards out from our lands, and we will  _ not _ roll out the welcome mat for them now! Ferelden will stand on her own!”

The queen’s hands closed into fists. She didn't want to believe it, but there were dark whispers in the halls that spoke of betrayal. Of her father's inaction during a battle that could have held back the darkspawn threat, yet killed her husband instead. “Father…” Anora cast upon him a hard look, quiet anger in her blue eyes. “Did you kill Cailan?”

He averted his stare from her, his expression unreadable. “Cailan’s death was his own doing...” 

His response drew a suspicious look from her and she angrily threw her arms up before stalking out of the room. An uncomfortable Howe watched her go before stepping up to ensure no one was listening, shutting it upon seeing the hall was clear. He warily regarded the teyrn, who rose to his feet and headed for a nearby table to pour himself more wine. “There is also the matter of the surviving Grey Wardens,” Howe spoke, drawing his attention as he gestured towards the open window where the wind picked up the drapes. "I have taken the liberty to arrange a solution… with your leave of course."

A cloaked figure stepped out from behind the curtains, a smirk over a sun-kissed face as he bowed deeply to Loghain. His velvet voice carried a chilling tone, as sharp and smooth as the edge of the two daggers he carried. “The Crows send their regards, Your Lordship.” 

Loghain scowled at his right-hand man. “You hired an assassin?”

He nodded slowly, gaze downcast in a gesture of submission. “By our recent reports, the Grey Wardens have proven to be resilient. Conventional means will not suffice and this man can be discreet.”

Ferelden’s regent sighed tiredly and turned to the fireplace behind him, resting a heavy arm over the mantle. He gave his head a shake, shoulders slumped as he looked upon the flames. “Just get it done...”

The Crow bowed again, the smile spreading further into a wicked grin. “As you wish…” He whirled about, his cloak flowing with the motion while cat-like strides took him to the window. In one leap, he left, disappearing in the same way he came.

Seeing Loghain’s back was still turned to him, Howe looked towards the flowing curtains. And his lips curled into a sneer of his own.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Horses galloped over gravel and rock as the Grey Wardens and their party traveled further up through the Hinterlands and along the King’s Highway. They were heading northeast, with Denerim, Ferelden’s royal capital, as their destination. It all seemed peaceful, with the occasional shack or village at the roadside. Everil would have found the scenery relaxing were it not for the danger still looming over it.

Seeing the beauty of the Fereldan landscape only made her realize just how fragile it all was, something she hadn't thought about before the Blight began. It was nearly embarrassing to her how sheltered she once was in comparison to the others around her. However, despite her lack of personal experiences outside the castle walls, she felt her parents’ constant lectures and her brother’s training were becoming quite useful lately. A sigh escaped her at the thought of them, the familiar ache returning to her chest. It had been close to three months now since her family perished at the hands of Howe. And yet, it all still felt fresh every time she remembered their faces. 

Suddenly, dark voices rudely interrupted her silent reverie, prompting her to quickly raise her hand and halt the group trailing behind her She focused on the wicked whispers, understanding not a word, yet knowing exactly what they meant. Her head spun in the direction from where they beckoned her, sensing their evil through the thicket of trees at the edge of the Highway. 

And she was moving, sliding off her saddle while Alistair followed suit next to her. They drew their weapons, walking with purpose as they answered the call of the taint. The others in their party didn't need to be told what was happening, their caution giving them all the information they needed. They simply dismounted and went after the pair, heading into the woods with them.

Distant growls echoed into their ears from beyond the bushes as they edged closer, spotting a large group of hurlocks and genlocks currently camping out in the field. A rotten stench saturated the area, worsened by the gruesome sight of the creatures bickering over the dismembered remains of several dead travelers. The victims appeared to have been part of a small caravan, their belongings scattered about along with their corpses.

“Another group that came out of the ground…” Alistair muttered next to her as they both took cover behind the thick greens. 

“Quite a few of them too… I say we make them regret ever coming out.” She reached for her bow and drew an arrow, before signaling for the others to come closer. Then her eyes shifted from one to the next as she laid out her commands. “Morrigan, I want you to set one of them aflame and create a distraction. Leliana, you and I will flank them from opposite sides. Take out as many as you can with your arrows. Alistair, Sten, and Bjorn can then charge in and take out the rest. Wynne, stand by and provide support if necessary.”

They split up to their respective positions. Leliana snuck around the enemy camp, as Everil did the same, remaining hidden behind the foliage. As the two took aim, one of the genlocks by the campfire suddenly combusted. It screeched in agony, dropping the severed arm it had been chewing on and scrambling to put itself out. The darkspawn around it simply watched it run in circles, amused by their brother’s pain as it burned alive. 

Taking the opportunity, Everil and Leliana began to pick off those that were distracted, their arrows piercing through heads and chests. When the darkspawn finally noticed they were under attack, nearly half their numbers had already been downed. They released enraged cries, drawing their weapons when the muscle of the party charged. Alistair promptly rammed his shield against the first hurlock, destroying its balance before running it through. Sten swung his greatsword, slicing several creatures in half as Bjorn tackled one nearby and tore off its throat.

They were dead in minutes, their tainted blood seeping into the dirt and mixing with the crimson color of that of their victims. Everil frowned angrily at the corpses of innocents littering the ground, shaking her head while putting away her bow. She walked up to the others as they gathered in the middle of the massacre, speaking quietly."Let's pick up anything of use."

Again, they split up, each one taking a corner of the destroyed camp. "I wonder where these people were going.” Leliana knelt next to one of the bodies, gathering the bit of coin still in its pockets. 

“They seem to have been going to Redcliffe,” Wynne said while flipping through the pages of the journal she'd found. She reached the last entry, surprised over her aging face. “They were running from the civil war—Maker, there’s a civil war now?”

“Yes. Against Loghain’s rule,” Alistair answered for her.

Morrigan let out a cynical laugh at this, hands on her hips. “My, but humans are a curious bunch. Death by darkspawn just isn't enough, it seems.”

“They didn’t know about what was happening in Redcliffe before we helped save it,” said Everil, sighing sadly. “They would've just walked into even more misery. Still, running into darkspawn was a worse fate…”

A hand on her shoulder drew her gaze to Alistair's solemn expression, her heart skipping a beat upon seeing him standing so close. "No use dwelling on that now. We should probably keep moving before wolves come to pick at what's left.”

She nodded slowly, then shifted her attention to the others. “All right. Let's go, everyone.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Hours passed as they traveled further along the dirt road, not once seeing another soul in their path. They were eventually forced to camp out in the wilderness once more, with only moments before sunset. Having horses meant finding water, so it took them longer than usual to spot a suitable place to rest. Thankfully, they’d stumbled upon a flowing river, which Everil was now using to bathe while taking her hound to keep watch.

Alistair let out a small huff, feeling somewhat envious of the dog as he stared at their campfire, a bladder of wine in one hand and a triangle of cheese in the other. His mind drifted, recalling their kiss while a content smile spread over his face at the memory. 

“You look like an idiot smiling at nothing.” 

He turned his head to Morrigan, who was staring at him, standing nearby. 

“You're just angry because I happen to be in a good mood,” he responded with a smirk, attempting to play off her insult. “What do you want, anyway? Did you get bored over in your dark corner and decide to come ruin my night?”

“I simply came to ask you about something I find rather troubling.” The fire reflected over her yellow stare, its light allowing him to see her irritation.

“Heh... I thought it was impossible for you to be bothered by anything. You know, since you’re always so nice and friendly.”

“Tell me, Alistair…” Morrigan ignored his comment, folding her arms while watching him take a drink. “Is fraternizing allowed in the Grey Wardens?”

He spat out the wine and coughed. 

A smirk formed on her lips. “I thought as much...”

Alistair wiped his mouth, heat rising to his face. “I—I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh, please... Did you truly believe I would not notice the change between the two of you? I see the way you look at her now—with eyes similar to those of a lost puppy, begging to be petted.” Her nose curled in revulsion. “And she welcomes this, for some reason… Are you two courting each other, yes or no?”

“None of your business,” he mumbled, looking away from that penetrating glare while finishing the cheese in one big bite. He gulped wine to wash it down and again wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Hmph…” Morrigan arrogantly lifted her chin. “As a Grey Warden, you have the fate of all of Ferelden—my home included—in your pathetic hands. I would say ‘tis my business to know if you are truly committed to your cause. For instance, what would you do if a situation were to arise in which you are forced to choose between ending the Blight and the woman you love? Would you sacrifice your love for humanity’s sake? Or would you instead make the selfish decision of safekeeping your future together?”

His brow furrowed, suddenly feeling nervous under her scrutiny. “D-Don't be ridiculous. That sort of thing would never happen.”

“Anything can and will happen in this war, Alistair. ‘Tis something you should consider carefully.” She put on a pleased smirk before stepping over to their supply of food. Lithe fingers wrapped around a red apple left on their bag before she spun about and walked away, leaving him to his thoughts. 

A scowl fell over his features as he watched her stroll towards her secluded corner, casually taking a bite from that fruit.  _ Did she come all this way just to tell me that?  _ He inwardly cursed the witch, wondering why it was she found it so amusing to torture him.

He hadn’t thought that being with Everil would ever hurt anything, but Grey Wardens were expected to sacrifice it all against the darkspawn. Which meant there was a real possibility that their relationship could be affected. Either one of them could die on this journey or be forced to make a difficult decision that may ultimately tear them apart—one which could very well make or break their chances of success against the Blight.

Just as that thought crossed his mind the object of his affections returned to camp, long hair dripping wet from her bath. Everil quickly sought the heat of the fire, lowering herself to the ground next to him. Bjorn sat beside her, also a bit damp from having been washed off of darkspawn blood. The dog placed his head on her lap, relishing the heat of the fire and the proximity of his charge. 

“Ah, it’s so good not to smell of dirt and sweat,” she commented while attempting to warm her bare hands.

Alistair's apprehensive eyes went to her. Should he end it before things get too serious between them? Perhaps he should cut it short, save them both from possible heartache. They could go back to being just friends, helping each other through tough times. Only comrades in arms off in an impossible quest to save the world. Maker, but that would be easier said than done.  _ What should I do…? _

Everil visibly shuddered, and he saw then that her once pink lips were turning pale. His pensive expression turned to concern and he mentally kicked himself for not noticing sooner. “Cold?”

She glanced at him. “Yes. The river was much colder than I anticipated.”

“Uhm... Here…” Alistair timidly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, bringing her close to him. She seemed to stiffen a little at first but released a content sigh when his body heat helped ease her jitters. Those around camp sent them curious glances, but he avoided their stares, attempting to ignore them. Everil, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice nor appear to care.

“Is that better?” he murmured with a gentle smile.

“Much...” She melted against him, letting herself relax in spite of the rapid beating of her heart.

He held her for a long moment, her sweet scent in his nose and her warmth pressed to his side. His gaze drifted to her features, admiring her profile while she remained distracted by the dancing flames. And as he stared at her, remembering all they’d been through together, Alistair came to a resounding conclusion. 

She was worth the risk. 

He wanted to be with her. To give them a chance. He would still place their duty as Grey Wardens first, and knowing her, she was sure to do the same. So if the worst came to pass, then he would do what was necessary and deal with the consequences. Right now, however, all he could do was hope that such a time would never come and enjoy her company for as long as he could.

Everil gazed up at him, finally sensing his eyes on her. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah…” He smiled and held her tighter. “Everything's fine.”

She returned the smile and again snuggled against him, no longer quivering from the cold. 

He took another swig from the wine and, for a moment, let the popping and crackling of the coals fill the quiet around them as he shifted his attention to a different subject. The prior battles against the darkspawn and the dangers they faced thus far had reminded him of something he hadn't thought about in some time. And he figured now would be as good a time as any to speak to her about it. “So I've been meaning to ask…” he quietly began, a little hesitant. 

"Hm?" She tilted her head to look at him. 

“Would you mind if we... looked someone up when we reach Denerim?”

A smirk spread over her face. “This someone wouldn’t happen to be a former lover, would they?”

“What?” His eyes widened. “You think I would take you to... Together? But I already told you that I’ve never—”

A stream of laughter interrupted him. “Relax. It was a joke.”

“Oh, uh… Good.” Alistair let out a breath, slightly flustered by her antics. She sure knew how to mess with him sometimes, but it didn't help he was so damn easy. “All right, how do I explain? I… found out a while ago that my mother had a daughter, from another man. Possibly someone she was married to before my father came along.”

Her eyebrows shot up with surprise. “Oh? So you have a sister?”

“Yes. A half-sister. I’ve never met her and only learned of her existence days before Arl Eamon sent me to the Chantry. So when I joined the Grey Wardens, I was able to do a bit of digging. I found out that her name is Goldanna, that she's still alive, and is living in the poorest district of Denerim—near the elven alienage.” He gave her a hopeful stare. “I know we have far more important matters to deal with, but I would like to meet her… If I could. Maybe warn her about the Blight. I don't know.”

“Well, I'm sure we can spare some time. We can go see her."

“Great!” He hugged her, both relieved and excited by her response. “Thank you so much!"

Everil chuckled. “You’re welcome. By the way… Since we’re discussing Denerim, I think we should speak to the Dalish elves after our business in the capital is over.”

“Hmm… The Brecilian Forest is south of Denerim. Yes, we could kill two birds with one stone.”

“All right, it's a plan then.” She reached over and took the wine from his hand before taking a drink herself. The alcohol warmed her throat and she sighed, licking her lips at the bitterness of it. They sat by the fire in comfortable silence, occasionally breaking it when chatting about the day’s events or Grey Warden tales. The others systematically retired to their tents, tired from the hours of travel. 

Everil yawned loudly and stretched her arms before rubbing her eye. “So you’ll be pulling guard duty? I thought tonight was Leliana's turn.” 

“Yes... I lost a bet I made with her,” he grumbled, feeling dejected. 

She arched an eyebrow. “What bet was that?”

“I bet her that I could make Sten crack a smile. She said she had a lot of faith, but that even the Maker himself wouldn't intervene on that for me. I wanted to prove her wrong, but—” He huffed in mock defeat. “—she was right.”

“It sounds like you did this to yourself then!” she laughed.

“Yes, I know. No need to pour salt over the wound.” He jokingly pouted, then a corner of his lips curled up as he pointed to her tent with his thumb. “Anyway, you should head to bed. It's getting late.”

“Yes, I suppose I sho—” Another yawn interrupted her, giving her barely enough time to cover her mouth and causing him to chortle at her. 

“Go on,” he said with a teasing grin.

“Yeah, yeah…” Everil sighed and returned the bladder to him before pushing herself to her feet. She turned to take a step but paused midway, tapping him on the shoulder. When he craned his head to look up at her, she bent over and gently kissed him. “Good night…”

“Good night…” he whispered, lightly stroking her cheek as his heart fluttered inside his chest.

His fingers left a tingling sensation and she straightened while biting her lip. Blushing a little, she spun to leave, promptly calling her hound. “Let's go, boy.” 

Bjorn rose at her command and approached Alistair, sloppily licking his face. He hadn’t much liked the human before, but he could sense his mistress was happy around him. And that was more than enough to win him over.

“Aw…” He let out a light laugh, scratching the war hound’s ear. “You sleep well too, buddy.”

He whined a little in response and followed her. Alistair watched as they retreated towards her tent, just a few steps away from him. She entered and her hound went in with her, leaving only him sitting outside. He grinned as he returned his stare to the fire, imagining what it would be like to sleep through the night with her in his arms. And once again, he was envious of that dog.


	2. The Royal Capital

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ D _ _ enerim, the capital of Ferelden.  _ It was the largest city in the country and where the royal palace sat at its center. All the nobles who ruled under the crown gathered here to make decisions each year, while common folk and merchants from all over Thedas traded goods and services within its ports. The citizens lived in areas sharply sectioned by social class, from the poorest elves in the alienage to the wealthiest politicians. Most commoners resided in homes made of a mixture of stone, wood, and clay, while the noblemen lived in mansions, sticking out from the rest like rocks over the sand.

The town’s massive Chantry towered over the buildings lining the dirt roads, with its majestic spires and regal statues. But it was not nearly as grand and intimidating as Fort Drakon, the city guard’s garrison, and Denerim’s prison tower. Made centuries ago by the Tevinter Imperium as a symbol of its power, the fortress dwarfed even the royal palace, standing as a warning to those who dared defy Ferelden’s king. Its angry peaks and sharp edges resembled a dragon’s teeth as its intimidating shadow traveled over the city with the shifting sun.

Several gold sovereigns let out hollowed thumps over the inn’s wooden counter, their surface glimmering under the flickering flame of a lantern. The old innkeeper took one of the coins, lifting it between two fingers before gazing towards the hooded brunette standing in front of him. She was keeping her head down, hiding her features from his curious eyes. “We will need three of your rooms with two beds, please,” came her quiet request.

He paused and counted the coins with wrinkled, quivering hands, then spoke once his calculations were finished. “You'll find 'em on the second floor, to the right.”

“Thank you.” Everil nodded and spun about to her companions, who were still waiting by the door. She approached them, laying out her orders. “Morrigan and Leliana will accompany Alistair and me into the city. The rest of you will remain here and make sure to stay out of trouble.”

Bjorn whined at her, walking up to her with sad eyes. 

“I’m sorry, big guy.” She knelt while apologetically petting his head. “You did a lot of walking on the way here today so I want you to rest and save your strength for tomorrow. Stay with Sten and Wynne. I'll be back before you know it.” Bjorn sniffed and sloppily licked her cheek, drawing a smile from her and receiving a scratch behind the ear in return.

All four of them exited the inn as planned, leaving the others to wait for them inside. Already the roads bustled with activity as the townsfolk rushed from one corner to the next, too preoccupied with their daily lives. So much so, that none seemed concerned by the Blight or the civil war currently ravaging the lands outside the city walls. Yet the Grey Wardens still opted for caution, wearing their hoods to hide their faces, while the cloaks kept most of their armor out of sight. The last thing they needed was for someone to see who they were and attempt to claim the bounty Loghain placed upon their heads. 

They crossed the streets to the Market District, going largely ignored by the citizens and only attracting the attention of merchants as they hollered at them from their shops. Morrigan observed everything around them in silent wonder, asking herself why so many would choose to live so close to each other. While at the same time, she found herself mystified by the sheer number of people frolicking in the streets.

Soon they arrived at the address given to them by the arlessa of Redcliffe, stopping before a house much larger than others around it. The owner probably earned more than most as a religious scholar, which was expected considering Denermin’s Chantry was also the largest in the nation.

After stashing the document in her bag, Everil stepped up to the door and gave it a gentle knock. A middle-aged man opened it moments after, offering her a warm smile. “Yes? How can I help you?”

“I apologize for the intrusion. Are you perhaps Brother Genitivi?”

He paused, scrutinizing the party. “No, I'm his assistant, Waylon. Genitivi isn’t here at the moment.”

She put on a small smile of her own, trying to ease their way in by using her charm. “Then perhaps you can help us. We seek information on the Urn of Sacred Ashes and we were told that he was close to finding it.”

He seemed to hesitate, looking around suspiciously before gesturing for them to step inside. Once in the house, he led them through a hallway as they eyed their surroundings, seeing nothing but shelves lined with books and religious artifacts that spoke of the scholar's successful background. Waylon stopped in the dining room before turning to face them. “I don't know what you've heard, but I must regretfully inform you that you seek a lost cause. The Urn doesn't exist.”

Everil folded her arms. “Hm... How odd. Genitivi stated otherwise in letters to Redcliffe's arlessa.”

Behind them, Leliana curiously walked the room, admiring the items on the shelves as they talked. The man picked up one of the books from the table, using his robe to dust it off and avoiding their gaze while cleaning up. “That was old speculation. We have long since given up on the search for the Urn. Perhaps you should do the same.”

She observed his movements, noticing the slight tremor in his hands. “We can’t... You see, there is a sick man who needs those ashes. He may never wake up unless we find them.”

“Several knights came here stating the same thing and I was forced to tell them what I just told you.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s a hopeless task.”

“Several knights?” Everil lifted an eyebrow. “How long ago was this?”

“Hm... About a month or so ago....” He glanced her way with shifting eyes, before continuing his work.

She gazed at her fellow Warden, who gave her a serious look. Alistair took a step towards the man, scrutinizing him. “Hey, by any chance, do you know what happened to those men? They never returned to Redcliffe.”

“I-I don’t know…” He smiled nervously. “Maybe they were attacked on their way back?”

Leliana wandered towards the back, admiring a bookcase behind Waylon when she caught a strange scent coming from a door beside it. She approached it, nose curling at the smell. “Ugh…”

Waylon whirled around upon hearing her. “Hey! Don’t go near that door!”

She blinked at his outburst. “Why? What lies behind it?”

“N-Nothing that concerns you. Get away from there!”

“It reeks of rot,” Leliana said and smirked at him. “Like a… very large rat… or maybe a dead man.”

He swallowed at her veiled accusation. “I-It’s just old parchment. Old books covered in mold.”

“Then why so nervous?” Morrigan asked with an interested smile, arms crossed over her chest. “No moldy parchment reeks of decay. I would know, for my mother has a few in her possession. What have you back there, little man?”

Everil shot him a glare. “Tell us what you’re hiding. Is it Genitivy’s dead body you hold? Where’s the Urn?”

He let out an elaborate sigh and set down the tome with slumped shoulders. “I told you to give up, yet you insist and persist. You leave me no choice.”

Several men burst from nearby rooms, armed with knives and daggers while charging at them with blades raised. Everil, Leliana, and Alistair drew their weapons and blocked each hit while protecting their mage. Morrigan stood by, already prepared to cast a spell. 

“Bastard…” Everil gritted her teeth and kicked one of them, shoving him off before her blade sunk into his chest, breaking through bone and flesh. She plucked her sword out of him and spun, slashing across another's torso. Meanwhile, Alistair parried his opponent's weapon and swung, cutting through cloth and the muscle beneath it. Another came at him from the flank with a dagger, and he struck at it, easily deflecting it before running them through. He pushed the man off him and slammed him to the wall, his body leaving angry, red smears as he slid to the floor. Leliana promptly dispatched the three men around her, weaving her way through them with both her dagger and deadly precision.

“H-How… H-How did you—” Waylon spluttered, moving away from them as his men now lay dead.

“Start talking.” Everil closed the distance to him, her sword aimed at his throat. “Who are you and why are you killing all who ask about the Urn?”

He found himself pinned to the wall and a quivering hand began to reach for his knife. 

“Don’t do it,” she warned, eyes narrowing dangerously. “I can slice your neck in an instant. Just stand down and answer my question.” 

“You are not worthy of witnessing Andraste’s grace!” Waylon lashed out, but she dodged with ease, leaning sideways just as the edge of her blade cut his neck open. He sank to his knees and gargled, trying in vain to stop the blood pouring out of him. Then he fell face down with a thud, more red pooling beneath him.

She sadly shook her head before speaking to her companions. “Search that room and the rest of the house. We must find anything that can give us a clue as to Genitivi's whereabouts.”

“Right,” Leliana replied and went through the door from which the stench was coming from, while the others searched the rest. She emerged in a study, which contained a desk and more bookshelves, along with a dimming fireplace in a corner. She covered her mouth at the smell and her gaze landed on a body bundled on the floor. Narrowing her eyes, she approached it, kneeling over it to inspect it. It lay bloated and decomposing, which meant he’d been dead for a while. At first, she thought this might have been Genitivi himself, but the book he was holding stated differently. She rose while flipping through the pages, heading back out to the others. “I found something.” 

They gazed up from their search and went to her.

“There is a body in the room, but it seems to be that of the real Waylon. Genitivi isn't here. He left for a village near the Frostback Mountains to the west.” She handed her find to Everil. “That's his journal, I believe. It says he was close to finding the Urn, and that this village called Haven was the key.” 

Everil nodded. “Good work.” 

“We should leave here before someone comes to investigate the commotion,” Morrigan suggested, gazing towards the entrance to the house.

“Agreed.” 

They walked out the front door, leaving the corpses for the city guard to find and clean up later. Everil adjusted her cloak, thankful that they managed to avoid getting blood on them this time. After all, they’d just killed the entire household.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The elven alienage was the side of the Market District where elves lived in extreme poverty, hidden in the back and ignored by the rest of the city. Just outside, the poorest of humans weren't fairing much better however, despite the stark privilege they held over their kind. Small huts were set up along the road, with barely enough room for two, while families of four or five often lived within. Smaller stores were propped up nearby, offering services such as laundry and cleaning. Small stalls also sold cheaply made goods and grub, drawing the majority of the residents, which made the streets as busy as those in the market square.

“You have a sister?” came Leliana's surprised voice.

“Yes. But this is the first time I'll actually meet her,” Alistair replied while they neared the house, anxious hands opening and closing. 

Their companions were now generally aware of his past upon him having told them after leaving Redcliffe. He figured there wouldn't be any harm in them knowing, especially since they were bound to find out eventually anyway. It hadn’t been as difficult to tell them as it was with Everil, however. He'd cared more about her perception of him as a leader and friend than that of the others, who were basically following them regardless.

And now, he was fearful of something very similar. Would Goldanna know of him? Would she push him away as others have? Alistair swallowed, hesitating before the door as his female companions waited a few steps behind him, giving him space while he prepared himself to enter the rickety home. 

“Are you going inside or what?” Morrigan questioned impatiently.

“Don’t rush me…” Alistair shot her an annoyed glare, then let out a breath and turned to his fellow Warden. “Everil, uhm… Could you…?”

She offered him a reassuring smile. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

He nodded timidly. 

“It’s all right. I'll help you.” Everil gently smacked his shoulder and walked up to the door while Morrigan rolled her eyes behind her. She knocked as Alistair shifted nervously beside her.

“Bertha!” a female voice called from inside. “I already told you that your laundry ain’t done until—” The door swung open and a worn-out woman glared at them for a moment before a hint of puzzlement fell over her hard stare. “What do you want?”

Everil paused, exchanging looks with a shaken Alistair before gazing back at her. “We apologize for the disruption but we came to speak with you about something important. Do you mind if we come in?”

She eyed them critically, seeing the metal and blue color of their armor through the small gaps in their cloaks. “'Course you can. You rich folk go about as if you own everything anyway.” She grumpily spun about and stepped back in, leaving the door open.

The Wardens exchanged another glance and followed her as the others waited outside. The house was barely holding together, with patches of wood and holes on every wall. Two girls sat on the ground nearby, playing with dolls made out of worn cloth and straw. Clothes were piled in a dented iron basin in a corner, soaking in dirty water. And the smell of mildew and dirt filled the air around them. Alistair and Everil stiffly observed their surroundings, feeling slightly out of place and carrying pitying expressions at the conditions in which they lived.

“What do you want with me?” Goldanna crossed her arms, short, blond hair sticking to a pasty, sweat stricken face. “And be quick. I’ve a lot of work to do for a living, unlike you lot.”

Feeling small under her stare, Alistair swallowed and spluttered awkwardly, “My name uh…. my name is Alistair. And I... know this might sound sort of strange to you... But are you Goldanna? If so... then I guess I'm your brother.”

“My what?” She arched an eyebrow at his words. “I am Goldanna, yes... How do you know my name? And what is this about a brother? What sort of tomfoolery are you folk up to?”

Everil attempted to appease her. “He speaks the truth. Listen to him.” 

Alistair cleared his throat, thankful that she was with him as he made a fool out of himself before his long lost sister. He continued, trying to speak through the nerves. “I don't know if you knew of this, but... When our mother worked at the castle, she and the king… well… she had another child. That child was me. I’m—”

“You!” Goldanna's expression went from realization to outrage, her voice rising a few decibels. “It’s you, ain’t it! I knew it! Those lying arses... They told me you was dead! They told me the babe died!"

He knitted his brows at her. “They… told you that? Who did?”

“Thems at the castle!”

“Oh, uhm... Well, the babe didn't die.” He forced a weak smile. “I'm him... I'm your brother.”

“For all the good that does me,” she scoffed, then gave him an accusing look, pointing at his chest. “You killed Mother, you did! I've been having to scrape by all this time 'cus of you! The coin they gave me to shut my mouth about your birth and the king's doings with my mother didn't last long and when I went back for more they ran me off! Those arseholes at the castle tricked me good! I should have told everyone about you!”

No words came to him as Alistair shrunk away under her cutting accusations, wincing each time she aimed her finger at him. While beside him, Everil watched and listened with fists closed, growing increasingly irritated by the way she was treating him. "Goldanna, it’s not fair of you to blame him for everything,” she reasoned, trying her best to maintain a calm tone and polite disposition. “He is not responsible for what happened and your mother’s death is painful enough as it is. He doesn’t need to hear you blame it on him.”

“What?” Goldanna shot her a dirty look. “And who in the Maker’s name are you? Some harlot going after his riches?”

“Hey!” Alistair cut in. “Don't speak to her that way! She's my friend and a Grey Warden, just like me!”

“Oh? A Grey Warden and a Prince. How high and mighty you are compared to me.” She lifted her nose, acid in her voice. “I don't know you, boy. All I know is that your royal father forced himself upon my mother and I was left to fend for myself after she died thanks to you.” She waved dismissively at the two. “Now, I have five mouths to feed. So unless you can help with that then I have less than no use for you.”

He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, his earlier burst of indignation ebbing into uncertainty. “I... I'm sorry. I don't know what to say.”

Everil blew out an annoyed breath. “Goldanna, Alistair just wanted to find his family.”

“Well, he found it! And unless he can make sure his nieces and nephews live how they have a right to, then he's worthless to me.”

“I... I suppose I could help somehow…” He helplessly looked to Everil, unsure of what to do to please his sister. “How about five sovereigns? Will you let me give her that? For my nieces and nephews.”

A sigh escaped her and she hesitated, anger making her wish she could just slap the bitterness out of her. But if making this witch happy meant this much to him, then she would help him. Taking a deep breath, she reached for their bag of coin and opened it. “Very well… If that's what you want to do, then here.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, taking the coin from her, then offering it to Goldanna. 

The woman gruffly grabbed it from his hand and glared down at the five golden coins as if they were crumbs. “This it? You've all that coin in that bag of yours and this is all you can spare?”

At that moment, if looks could kill, Everil would have accidentally murdered her. How dare she be this ungrateful when he was trying so hard to make her happy? How could she be this reproachful of him when she'd never even met him before? She simply couldn't hold back her temper anymore. “In case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a Blight! We cannot afford to—”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Goldanna cut her off, pocketing the coin before casting a scathing stare upon Alistair. “So answer me, you so-called prince. Is your family worth just five miserable sovereigns?”

Alistair turned away from her, his heart twisting with embarrassment and shame. Most would have appreciated any help these days. Especially since that kind of money could actually feed her family for more than a month. He didn’t know what to do or say, but he certainly regretted ever coming here. 

“I’m sorry…” he uttered weakly. “That’s all I can give you. I... wish I could do more, but—”

“Then you’re nothing to me! Get out of my house!” Goldanna snapped, thrusting a finger at the door. 

Everil clenched her teeth, itching to pounce on her. “Why, you—” But her words died mid-sentence when Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. She shut her mouth and willed herself to bite her tongue. If it weren’t for him... 

“All right. We're leaving now. Sorry to have bothered you,” he said before gently leading the fuming Everil towards the entrance.

“Just don't come back unless it's with the coin we're owed!” she yelled after them, and just as soon as they stepped out, the door was slammed behind them. 

_ Bitch…  _ Everil thought, shooting the house a withering glare. And here she'd been happy he’d at least found someone he could call family. To think that a man as sweet and selfless as Alistair was related to that monster… She just couldn't believe it. Her gaze went to him, seeing he was shamefully staring at his feet. She was about to ask him if he would be all right when a light laugh drew both of their attention.

“So your sister hated your guts,” Morrigan mocked upon seeing them, a smirk spreading over her lips. “I am not surprised.”

Her cutting words drew a hurt look from Alistair, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. The pain swiftly turned to anger and he growled miserably, shoving past her and stalking into the passing crowd. There was nothing he wanted more right now than to be as far away as possible from that place and from her.

“Alistair, wait!” Everil called to him, then irritably addressed her other companion. “Damn it, Morrigan! You two go back to the inn… I'll go get him.” The witch simply crossed her arms, unconcerned by the Warden's glare before she hurried after him, disappearing behind the townsfolk wandering the streets.

“That was uncalled for, Morrigan,” Leliana chastised. “Why kick him while he’s down? Alistair didn’t do anything to deserve that.”

“I’ve no sympathy for the likes of him. If he wishes respect, then he should stop behaving like a child and start acting like a man.” She spun about and walked away on casual strides. The nun lightly shook her head at her and followed, sending a worried glance in the direction of the two Grey Wardens.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Those walking by appeared to completely ignore Everil's presence in their haste to keep moving, constantly bumping into her or blocking her advance. But she kept weaving her way through, focused on Alistair's retreating form as he headed for the nearest alley. A curse escaped her when a man accidentally knocked her to the side just as she was reaching the edge of the road, nearly making her trip.

After sending the crowd an exasperated glance, Everil sighed tiredly, relieved at finally being out of the mess. They all reminded her much of the common folk back in Highever, always too busy to see where they were going most of the time. She looked back to the alley, no longer able to see Alistair in the distance. Frustrated, she broke into a jog, hurrying through the empty back streets, searching for him. The alleys of the city were mostly used as rear entrances for some stores and homes but were also the gathering spots for less than virtuous individuals. Thankfully, however, the few ragged elves loitering about seemed to notice she was well-armed, for they kept their distance instead of trying to mug her—not that they would succeed in doing so anyway.

She stopped and released a breath of relief upon finally finding him sitting on some stairs leading up to a walkway, crestfallen and with elbows on his knees. Everil took a few steps, seeing him run a hand through his hair with a despondent sigh. “Alistair?” 

His head shot up, his gaze somewhat lost at first, before an apologetic frown creased his brow. “I… I'm sorry…”

“It's all right…” She went to him, smiling up at him from the bottom of the short flight of stairs. “Goldanna said some painful things to you and Morrigan just made it worse. I don’t blame you for walking away from that. I'm just glad I found you.”

“I just...” He clasped his hands together, tired eyes over his laced fingers. “I thought she would be happy to meet me… That she would accept me without question and welcome me with open arms.”

“I know…” Everil climbed the steps, then took a seat beside him. “I didn't expect she would react in such a way either. But people can surprise you with their cruelty.”

“I just can’t believe the sister I dreamed of meeting one day as a child turned out to be such a… Such a…”

“Gold-digging harridan?”

“Heh… Yes. That’s accurate.”

She observed his profile for a moment, seeing his uncertainty while recalling just how alone he'd felt in that demon-induced nightmare at the Circle of Magi. Loneliness was all he'd ever known, yet it seemed he'd never truly learned how to live without others in his life. Without the need to rely on those he latched onto for guidance and support. And truly, that's what was hurting him the most and why he was always so unsure of himself and of his own decisions. Because he was afraid to fail after having had others call all the shots for him or coddle him.

There were a hundred assurances she could offer him now. Perhaps start by telling him that she and their friends were the only family he needed. But considering what she'd learned of him thus far, that was not what was right for him. He didn't need her to save him this time. What he needed was to pick himself off the ground and keep moving forward, with or without someone to hold him up.

“I’m sorry this happened to you…” she began gently, directing a kind stare towards him. “...but perhaps this means that it’s time for you to look out for yourself, rather than continue to seek others who would do it for you.”

He regarded her with a puzzled expression. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you should stop searching for someone to care when the only one whose opinion truly matters is you. This is your life. The only one who can change it for the better is you. All you have to do is be more self-reliant… More confident and independent,” Everil shifted forth, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. “Because although you have friends around you… Although you have me... In the end, you don’t really need anyone else—” She pressed a gentle hand to his chest. “—but yourself.”

Her words slowly dawned upon him, stunning him with the realization they brought.  _ She’s right… Of course, she’s right…  _ He'd been so focused on how unwanted he’d felt throughout the years that he was constantly trying to find a family who would accept him. Someone who would give him a sense of belonging, their love, and affection. And when he did find them, he would simply follow their lead because he lacked the confidence to create his own path in life. Because he was too scared to try and stand up on his own after having been beaten down so many times. 

That had to change. He had to change.

_ I have to rely on myself and no one else. Make my own decisions… on my own.  _ As the thoughts sunk in, a weight lifted from his shoulders and the shroud cleared from his mind. It was time to finish feeling sorry for himself and to stop using his past traumas as an anchor. It was time for him to move forward, with no one to stop him but himself. And today he would take the first step.

A corner of his mouth went up. “I have some growing up to do, don't I?”

“Everyone does at one point or another. And there is strength in admitting that.”

“Then I will follow your advice. I'll stand up on my own… Create my own happiness,” Alistair uttered quietly, then leaned in to lightly press his lips to hers. “Thank you...”

“You’re welcome…” Everil smiled tenderly, the kiss filling her with warmth as she gently cupped his cheek. “Just don't forget you can still rely on me for help here and there.”

He placed a hand over hers, leaning into her touch. “I know…”

“Help!” A woman's scream interrupted their moment, startling them and drawing their attention away from each other. Then another cry followed, bordering on a desperate shriek as it resonated throughout the alley. The two of them exchanged a quick glance, rose to their feet, and ran down the steps, making haste in the direction of the noise.

They rushed through the street, following the sound of more screams as they ran deeper into the city's more dangerous areas. Until they stumbled upon a redheaded woman standing past an iron gate, weeping uncontrollably with her back to them. The two jogged to a stop, scanning the area for whatever or whoever attacked her but seeing no one nearby.

The woman continued to sob, hunching over and hugging herself, her black cloak wrapped tightly around a thin body. Concerned and confused, Everil got closer and placed a hand over her shoulder. “Hey, are you all right?" she ventured, but to her utter puzzlement, the figure began to chuckle, drawing odd stares from both Grey Wardens.

Everil backed away, now very much suspicious as the laughter grew louder and more unhinged. 

“Surprise!” The woman spun, set off a bomb, and green gas exploded around both her and Everil, a mask shielding her face from it as she disappeared behind the cover. The massive gate behind the Wardens dropped with a loud bang, trapping them inside the alley's section while several men appeared from behind walls and crates, all armed and clad in black leathers.

“Blast!” Everil coughed as the smoke filled her lungs, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grimacing at the bitter taste. “What in the—” Her head snapped up upon sensing movement above and eyes landing on a hooded figure with a slim, yet masculine frame. He stood atop a roof, observing them from his perch like a vulture, white teeth gleaming under the sunset. Whomever it was, he was bad news and so were his friends, who were quickly surrounding them. Jaw set, she drew her blade, while her companion also pulled out his sword.

“An ambush?” Alistair muttered, eyeing their opponents. “Just what we needed right now…”

A man cried out as, one after the other, they came charging with weapons raised. The first reached him in seconds, but Alistair was ready for him. He struck up, deflecting a dagger before slashing across his neck and collarbone. Then he spun, knocking away another weapon before impaling them through the chest. The third got too close, barely giving him enough time to avoid a stab. He cut upwards at the man's arm and he screamed, dropping his dagger. Alistair's sword found his gut and then he shoved him off with a foot, retrieving his blade and aiming it towards several more edging in. It was just him and Everil now, and they were outnumbered. 

“Kill the Grey Wardens!” One pounced on her and she blocked with both weapons. He kept coming, striking like a madman in an attempt to find an opening. She deflected his blades, then kicked him on the knee, breaking his guard and cutting open the side of his throat. Blood gushed out from his jugular like red wine, pouring down as he fell in a gurgling mess.

There was no time to celebrate, however, because the same woman from before jumped in, swift feet like those of a cat. Gleaming daggers clashed with Everil's weapons as the Warden gritted her teeth, holding her ground against the impact. With a roar, she threw a kick at her stomach, only to hit air as the redhead slithered away and struck from the side. Everil blocked with her sword and slashed with the dagger, an attack the woman dodged as if she were made of rubber. 

Although growing increasingly frustrated, Everil kept swinging, intent on defeating her. Each swing cut empty space for a few strikes, until she was finally able to read her pattern. “Gotcha!” she called, dodging a hit and bringing her sword around, forcing her to bring up her defenses and block. 

Alistair deflected a hit, then sliced through another enemy as one more came at him. He locked blades with him. “How do they know who we are!” 

“I don’t know!” Everil yelled back while pushing the rogue off of her, then ducked from an attack, only to block her other dagger. “I think they—“ A violent coughing fit overtook her, stripping her muscles of all feeling and weakening the grip on her weapons. The masked female struck then, hitting her blades and sending them flying out of her reach. Everil fell on her knees, too weak to fight back or stand and attempting to catch her breath through the coughs. 

“W-What...?” she managed to croak before being thrown over someone's shoulder, limbs hanging limply in spite of her best efforts to struggle. Her captor tossed another bomb onto the ground, unleashing a curtain of smoke that hid their forms from view. And she was carried away from the battlefield, unable to fight back and leaving Alistair behind.

“Everil!” he cried out, taking several running steps towards the veil, only to stop in his tracks when something large dropped from above. Surprised eyes trailed up a hulking man now blocking his path, his face hidden behind the great helm he wore. Alistair's eyebrows met at the bridge of his nose as he tightened the grip on his weapon.  _ No… too large for a man. This is a qunari…  _

It was like staring at an impenetrable fortress made out of pure muscle and covered from head to toe in iron plating. A small, but visibly heavy spiked iron ball slammed to the ground by his feet, tied to a chain he held with one hand. While in the other, he wielded a greatsword, worn and chipped at the edges from constant use and little maintenance. 

Alistair’s disadvantage in both size and strength was glaringly obvious to him, but he was far too desperate to care. His eyes darkened as he held his ground, blade aimed at the behemoth. “Get out of my way…”

The qunari chuckled and tauntingly shook a finger. “No. Can. Do.”

“Thorpe!” shouted the hooded male still atop the roof. “Be a good boy and kill him for the Crows! I have a mess to clean up!” And then he vanished as quickly as he came. The Grey Warden was now alone with his next opponent and what remained of the men still lying injured and dying upon the ground.

Without warning, the brute rushed him, raising his greatsword and swinging at him. Alistair dodged and thrust in a diagonal, trying to stab through the chainmail between the plating armor on his arm, but failing. The qunari dragged his heavy weapon over the dirt, swinging upwards and forcing Alistair to use his shield. He clenched his jaw, the strike ramming him as if he’d been hit by a bull as the resounding clash of metal against metal rang inside his ears. 

Thorpe roared and another of his attacks was blocked, the force causing Alistair's feet to slide back an inch. Greatswords were mostly used for both reach and power, whereas Alistair's blade was intended for faster, close-quarters combat. Which meant he had to somehow get closer without accidentally losing his head.

“Come on, puny man! I'm beginning to think you Grey Wardens aren’t as great as you claim to be!” he taunted, bringing the weapon upon him once more. Alistair sidestepped, letting it hit the ground as the dirt exploded on impact. He darted forth, prepared to stab through his plated chest. His sword was grabbed by an armored hand, stopping it inches from reaching its target. Alistair’s eyes went wide and a punch hit his gut, knocking the air out of him. He stumbled and saw another fist coming, giving him only enough time to bring an arm up to protect his face. It hit him on the shoulder, the sheer force sending him to the ground. And then he was grabbed by the front of his armor, spun and flung as if he were nothing but a bag of rocks. He tumbled roughly over the dirt, landing on his back a few feet away.

“Pathetic!” Thorpe laughed and took a leaden step, armor chiming with the movement.

With effort, Alistair rolled onto his stomach, pushed himself to a knee, and slowly rose, abs burning from the abuse. He drew in a few, deep breaths, trying to clear the dizziness in his head. Then his sword went up again and he charged, releasing an angry cry. 

Sneering behind the helmet, Thorpe saw him coming and unleashed the chain upon his legs, quickly dropping him mid-run. He cackled triumphantly and pulled, dragging him as if he were but a prized hog on its way to slaughter. 

_ Shit….! _ Alistair struggled to break free, kicking and grabbing at the chain until he found himself at the qunari's feet.

“Die insect!” he roared, drawing back his giant blade and bringing it upon him without mercy. Alistair rolled at the last second, barely managing to avoid it as it stabbed the ground next to him, jagged edge scraping his plates. 

“Damn it!” he bit out, scrambling to pull on the chain still wrapped around his ankles. But Thorpe plucked the sword from the dirt, lifted it, and thrust before he could free himself. 

The Warden tried to use his shield but wasn't fast enough. The sword’s tip scraped past the edge and pierced the plates on his shoulder, penetrating flesh as Alistair grunted through clenched teeth. A laughing Thorpe plucked it out of him, granting him a brief window to frantically reach for the chain and violently kick it off. Now freed, he was left with just enough room to twist away from another thrust that grazed the metal at his hip.

“Stop moving, little mouse!” Thorpe taunted, lifting his weapon once more.

The Warden hurried to his feet as the sword scratched his pauldron, barely missing his head. Cursing under his breath, he retreated several steps and rolled, attempting to put distance between them as the giant’s weapon swooshed over him. Alistair got to his feet, panting heavily and with his pulse ramming in his ears.  _ That was too close… Too damn close… _

A growing bloodstain soaked the blue of his armor as his shoulder bled, but adrenaline and the sheer will to win numbed the pain. His eyes quickly searched for vulnerabilities, something he would've done from the start, had he not been so intent on running after Everil.  _ He carries the chain in his left hand, which leaves him open on that side... He’s armed with the great sword on the right... Still need to get past the armor… _

“No more games, Warden!” Thorpe roared, stomping towards him while spinning the chain.

Alistair clicked his tongue and moved out of the way, letting the iron ball slam against the earth. The qunari then came at him with the blade, striking his shield and making him grunt under its weight.  _ If I could somehow go around that sword and hit his open side… _

Another battle cry came as the brute swung in a wide, downward arch, pouring all of his strength onto the attack. The Warden narrowly dodged and the blade buried itself into the soil. It took Thorpe two seconds to pluck it out, but seeing him struggle gave Alistair an idea that brought a smirk to his face. 

He took a step back and jumped out of the way of another attack. Then dodged another. Then another. Until he saw Thorpe lift his blade up high, ready for another massive downswing. This time, Alistair stood his ground, bringing his shield up at a slightly slanted angle when the greatsword connected, the edge scraping over the polished surface. Sparks flew as he diverted the hit and the sword struck sideways, stabbing the dirt at an angle. 

Without pause, Alistair used the weapon as a stepping stone, springing off of it and leading with his shield in a sideways swing. It slammed squarely against the enemy’s head, denting his helmet and sending him stumbling backward. The Warden then struck with his sword, slamming it against the side of his head, further stunning him. He then brought the pommel of his blade onto the side of his kneecap, robbing him of what little balance he had left.

Thorpe fell on a knee, still in a daze from the trauma to his head. And before he could recover, Alistair thrust his blade with all his might, driving it into the chainmail beneath the great helm. The sickening sound of tearing muscle and metal scraping bone was joined by gurgles as blood poured from beneath the helmet. Trembling hands grabbed the sword piercing the thick, qunari neck, but it was a feeble effort, their strength quickly fading.

“Just so you know before you die…” Alistair uttered in quiet anger, eyes boring into his through the narrow slot of the great helm. “Grey Wardens don't just make claims... We simply are the best there is.” And he plucked his weapon out from him, letting his heavy body slam onto the ground as his last breath was drawn.

Breathing heavily, Alistair sheathed his blade and looked towards where Everil’s weapons lay. He went to them and picked up her sword, wincing from his injury. His gaze then trailed up to the other side of the road, seeing nothing but emptiness ahead. There was no way for him to tell which way they went. He clenched his jaw, suddenly feeling powerless.


	3. In the Crow's nest

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ T _ _ he paralyzed Everil could _ only see the back of the woman carrying her, her muscles still refusing to obey. She could hear voices, women’s laughter, and the moans of men, while her nose was assaulted by the strong scent of ale and sweat. She couldn’t make out the words spoken by those around her, but they were clearly in some sort of tavern.

Moments later, she was laid over a worn bed, her body flopping down on it as if lifeless. Whatever she inhaled before had robbed her of all strength and motion. Anger rose up within her as she struggled to lift her hands, her fingers twitching with every effort she made. Then she felt her arms being pulled and bound to the headboard, the rope scraping at the leather of her gloves.

Her captor pulled away and rose to her feet, tugging down her mask and staring at her with a satisfied smile. She wore a black cloak and black, hardened leather, a dark grey tunic underneath. There were several vials on her belt, as well as multiple small knives, while two daggers were strapped at her back. Footsteps had her whirling around and reaching for her weapon, gaze landing upon the hooded figure now standing in the doorway. One Everil recognized from their previous battle.

“Oh, it's you, Zevran,” the woman said with relief, lowering her hand.

Zevran pulled back his hood, revealing a handsome, angular face, his pointed ears poking out from a long, platinum mane. The silver traces clashed against tanned skin, one silky strand caressing a swirling black tattoo over his left cheek. He wore leather under his black cloak and black gambeson and pants underneath the armor. The quality of his outfit screamed wealth, which meant these people were surely paid well for their deeds. 

“Len, my dear. Is this your idea of a kinky eve? Because if it is, I am very interested in finding out where it leads,” he teased, his seductive voice carrying an accent Everil recognized as Antivan—a faraway country north of Ferelden. 

Len smirked, expertly twirling a dagger in her hand. “A nobleman by the name of Howe offered me a great deal of extra coin for bringing this one to him alive. I think killing the other one should satisfy Loghain.”

Everil’s eyes widened at the revelation. _Both Loghain and_ _Howe are behind this?_

If these two were hired by their wealthy enemies, then that meant they were dangerous professionals. That realization made her resentment quickly change into deep concern. Alistair was a strong, capable warrior, but the odds weren't in their favor when she was taken. He was alone, left to fight whatever these two left behind.  _ Maker, I hope he’s all right… _

“Len, Len, Len…” Zevran clicked his tongue, jokingly chastising his partner. “You know the Crows don't like it when we act on our own. Not killing the target and going around the original contract is… frowned upon.”

“Yes, I know that. But this I could not pass up. With this much coin I could run away.” A wicked grin spread over her lips. “I can leave the Crows and build my own life! Can you imagine?”

Zevran seemed amused by her. “You think they'll let you off the hook, just like that?”

“I’m sure they won't…” she sighed, averting her eyes from him. “But this is my chance to run away and hide.”

“Oh, sure it is.” His smile didn’t waver, his tone chillingly nonchalant. “But you do realize I am also bound to kill you for doing this.” 

Len backed away, knowing well that, if he so wanted to, he could end her life on the spot. But despite her inner fear, the female assassin had a confident mask that matched his. “But we’re friends, so you won’t do it. Right, Zevran?”

“Hmm…” He cast her a pensive look she was unsure was genuine. “We shall see what this deal of yours brings you. I’m not particularly loyal to the Crows myself, after all.” Zevran strode gracefully to the bed, inspecting her incapacitated hostage. The Grey Warden looked to be a capable fighter moments ago, now she lay helpless and at their mercy. This allowed him to take a closer look, however, and he wasn’t disappointed. 

Inquisitive brown eyes trailed over her features, from that dark-brown hair to the swell of her breasts and the curvature of her hips. She appeared to be quite delicate in spite of all the armor, dried blood, and dirt. Like a neglected porcelain doll whose face was chipped. He cupped her cheek, thumb stroking the slight imperfection on her otherwise perfect face. The raw anger in her eyes at the intrusion brought a smirk to his face and his curiosity grew further.

Len half-smiled. “Pretty one, isn’t she?”

“I didn’t know Grey Wardens allowed women in their ranks," he answered, glancing her way. "She even has a… sort of air of nobility about her.”

“She is one, actually.” 

His head snapped to her. “Oh?”

“Yep. The nobleman gave me more information than he probably should have. He has a huge head, that one.” The redhead placed a hand on her hip, still twirling the blade with the other. “He boasted about taking out the previous lord of this place called Highever, along with almost all of his family. He said she was the only one left. A loose end he wanted to tie up. Which is why he was willing to pay me handsomely for her.”

Zevran raised an elegant eyebrow, puzzled by the man’s logic. “Isn’t it easier just to let us kill her?”

“You know nobles can be sick bastards. Maybe he has something planned for her?" Len shrugged with disinterest. “Either way, I don’t really care. I just want my sovereigns.”

“Hm...” He returned his attention to the Warden, wondering if perhaps death was a more merciful fate for her. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“How could you let this happen? Were you not with her!” Morrigan questioned angrily, cat-like eyes following the man currently pacing back and forth like a caged animal. The rest of their companions were standing by, all crammed in the modest room with their gaze also upon him.

“Yes, but there was nothing I could do.” Alistair anxiously ran a hand through his hair. “They took her, and then this… qunari came—”

“Of what use are you then! You call yourself a knight and yet you could not even—”

“I know, Morrigan!” Alistair spun about, desperately cutting her off. “I know that I couldn’t protect the woman I care about! So if you’re trying to make me feel any worse than I already do, then you’re wasting your bloody time!” 

The witch opened her mouth to protest, but Wynne stepped in to put an end to their argument. “Now is not the time to point fingers! We should be thinking about what to do to find her and quickly.” 

“She's right,” Leliana added worriedly. “If they were skilled enough to take her, they must be hired professionals. Did you hear them say anything that can help us?”

He took in a deep breath, then pinched the bridge of his nose, brow furrowed in concentration. "One of them… One of them mentioned something about… Crows.”

Leliana gasped. “The Crows…”

He sent her a hopeful look. “You know of them?”

She nodded. “They are a renowned guild of assassins from Antiva. But they often do business elsewhere—if the person who hires them is willing to pay for it, that is.”

“Then I bet Loghain is responsible for this…” Alistair angrily crossed his arms, glaring at the ground. His body still ached from the earlier fight but Wynne had thankfully used magic to heal his shoulder. All that was left was the bloodstain and the bruise on his pride.

“It's possible... They would have to possess a great deal of wealth to be able to afford their services.” She pursed her lips in puzzlement. “I've never heard of them taking hostages, however. Perhaps a deal was struck outside the initial contract—an agreement to bring her in alive, but kill the other Warden.”

Morrigan lifted an eyebrow at her. “How does a Chantry nun know about all this?”

She smiled innocently. "One hears many things during one's travels, no? I was a traveling minstrel in Orlais before I became a sister. Tales of intrigue were part of my repertoire.”

“I see…” Morrigan’s suspicious expression only deepened. There was definitely more to this woman than she let on.

“Well…” Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. "We at least know who we're dealing with. Now we have to figure out a way to find her.” 

A bark interrupted their conversation, drawing their attention to their hound. Bjorn padded to the door, scratching at it with his paw. 

“You know where she is?” Wynne prompted with surprise. 

The dog barked again. 

Alistair observed him with interest, seeing him eagerly sniff the floor. “They say mabari can track anything from miles away... I bet he can follow her scent and lead us to her,” he said, almost to himself before a thought occurred to him. If the hound could take them to her, then they could save her together. “All right," he regarded the group with renewed confidence. "Hurry up and get your gear. We’re getting Everil back from these bastards.” 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

This time, Alistair was the one leading the way with the others following behind him—which was surprising even to him. They were trekking after the hound through the back roads of Denerim, following Everil's trail without pause. It barked in another direction, taking them further into the least populated areas of the city. Areas through which its mistress was no doubt taken in an effort to avoid detection. Smiling a little, he made a mental note to reward him later, once Everil was found and brought back to them. To him.

Soon the night left them in near darkness, with only Morrigan's flame to light the way. They eventually neared Denerim’s harbor, where ships were docked in big numbers. This was the main point of trade between Ferelden and other countries across the sea, and only fishermen and merchants lived or stayed nearby. That meant males of all races frequented the place, working in the docks or in their ships.

The group hid in one of the alleys leading to the harbor, while Alistair looked around the corner at the men strolling by. Bjorn stared at a well-lit building further down the port, whining quietly and revealing the location where their companion was being kept. 

"Is that the sea?" Morrigan asked, hearing the rolling of the waves. She could smell the salt of the waters and the scent of the fish. It beckoned her, luring her as she pushed Alistair aside to get closer, curiosity getting the best of her. 

A hand yanked her back, snapping her out of her trance. “What are you doing?” Alistair hissed. “You can't just go out there! What if the Crows saw you with us earlier?”

She roughly pulled her arm out of his grasp. “Then what do you suggest? Shall we hide until the Blight is upon us instead?”

Leliana and Wynne let out simultaneous sighs, while Sten merely watched the exchange. 

“Just... give me a minute,” he grumbled before poking his head around the corner again, trying to scan more of the scenery. He took a closer look at the building and the sign hanging from it, reading the words 'The Pearl' written over it. Men were gathered outside, laughing loudly while drinking and playing games as women served them ale.

Alistair recalled his last trip to Denerim with Duncan. The soldiers at the castle had suggested they visit the place, claiming it as their favorite spot for a pastime. Though he also heard from others that both guards and petty criminals gathered there, often too busy having their fun to notice—or perhaps even care about—each other’s presence. 

A group of five soldiers then caught his attention, their backs stiff as they took purposeful steps towards The Pearl. Anyone else would have likely seen a group of friends searching for some fun, but from a distance, they definitely lacked the merriment of men about to drink and get laid. They went towards the back of the brothel, possibly going in through the backdoor to avoid the crowd while granting him a glimpse of their shields. 

Surprise fell on his face, immediately recognizing the coat of arms painted over them—the giant brown bear. “Howe… He was the one who ordered her capture!”

“What are you on about?” Morrigan asked moodily.

He moved to face them. “I don't have time to explain. But we have to hurry and get Everil out of there.”

“What do you want us to do?” Leliana asked him, tilting her head.

A hesitant Alistair paused when they all looked at him, realizing the position he was in. As fellow Grey Wardens, he and Everil had somewhat shared some of the decision-making up until now, but this was the first time he was fully in charge of anything or anyone. He swallowed, looking at each of them as he considered their strengths and weaknesses, trying to think as she would in his situation. If he made the wrong call, he would either get himself and their leader killed or get everyone killed altogether. 

_ Be more self-reliant…  _ Everil’s words as they sat upon those stairs suddenly came to his mind.  _ More confident and independent. _

Alistair returned his eyes to the brothel, his chest uncomfortably tight with worry for her. He had to save her. There was no time for doubt.

Fingers curled to fists as he steeled himself and sent a sharp stare towards them. “The place is dangerous as it is, with criminals and city guards swarming it. Plus we don't know how many Crows there are or where they’re keeping her. Which means that all of us barging in as if we were a surprise party won’t do. One man won’t draw as much attention, so I’ll go in on my own and try to blend in." 

He then shifted his gaze to Leliana. “Leliana, you’re a rogue, so you’re good at sneaking around... I want you to go in through the back and deal with the soldiers we just saw. Delay them or get rid of them. Whatever it takes. Can you do that?"

A smirk formed over her features. "Of course."

He addressed the others. “Bjorn, Sten, Wynne, and Morrigan... You four will stay outside and watch for any reinforcements trying to enter the building. Sten and the hound can take on the enemy directly, while the two of you back them up. Got it?”

“Yes,” Wynne replied with a confident nod. “Be careful in there.”

Bjorn whined, padding closer to him and sniffing his hand. Alistair took a knee, lowering himself to his level to gently pat his head. “Don’t worry, boy. I’ll bring her back. I promise.”

The dog gently touched his cheek with his nose, letting out another whine in response.

“All right…” Alistair blew out a breath as he stood, then pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, trying to hide his face and armor from view. “Let’s do this…” He stepped out of the alley on casual strides, steadily making his way to The Pearl. Leliana waited a few minutes, covering her own face before nimbly rushing forth, using as much cover as she could to make her way to the brothel. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Alistair neared the place, cautiously observing those around him while also avoiding direct eye contact. The few men outside were all sailors, and they seemed too preoccupied burying their faces in women's breasts to even notice him. He pushed the door open and stepped through, drawing the glances of some of the patrons, who promptly went back to their women, games, and ale.

He advanced while observing the area, weaving his way through the tables. It was dimly lit on the inside, with only a few oil lamps here and there to keep people from tripping over each other. Women openly wrapped their legs around the men, while they were fondled freely and without shame. A bar was at the far corner, where ale was constantly being poured to be delivered to the guests. Moans and groans reached his ears from all sides and his nose was assaulted by a strong mixture of sweat and booze. Alistair made a face and wondered if one had to be completely drunk to endure the smell or if it just required a few visits to get used to it. He had his doubts about the latter.

It was strange to see such a venue in the capital of his country, but then again sailors and soldiers needed their entertainment. He imagined Cailan also knew little of it all, despite it practically sitting in his backyard. Not to mention there was probably some unspoken rule that kept everyone from speaking of what went on here—the one place in Denerim where most could very well get away with murder.

“Hi there, handsome..."

A bare-chested woman wandered up to him, her hands coming to rest over his broad shoulders. Alistair gulped, trying hard to avoid looking at her torso while gently pushing her away. "Sorry…" He cleared his throat. "Not here for that."

The prostitute shot him an insulted glare, lifting her chin up before stalking away, heading for another incoming guest. He let out a weary breath and climbed the stairs to the second floor of the brothel, which overlooked the entire bar. Rows of rooms surrounded the above area in a large square, a hallway opening up to more rooms on either side. A few couples leaned against the wooden railing on the top floor, completely oblivious of him. Pulling his hood down, he looked around, then continued on, a hand cautiously resting on the hilt of his sword.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Len paced the room anxiously. “They should be here by now.”

"Who?" asked Zevran, who was taking a seat at the edge of the bed.

“Howe's soldiers, of course. I'll be back... I'm going to meet them and lead them in." She hurried to the door and stalked out, closing it behind her. A wicked smirk spread over her face as she made her way through the empty hallway, feeling good about her chances for freedom. 

Of course an arrangement was already made. They were waiting for her, and all she needed to do was give them the room’s location and take the money. Leaving Zevran behind was a must, else she could risk him killing her to save his own skin. She crossed the T shaped hallway, heading towards the linen storeroom in the back of the tavern while nearly bumping into a cloaked man in her haste.

Zevran shrugged, then shifted his stare to the Warden. She was pressing her lips into a line, eyes narrowed threateningly. A soft chuckle left him, finding her murderous glare admirable given her circumstances. “She gave you a strong dose, eh? But I suppose that's what it takes to keep you this docile, considering the look you're giving me.” 

He grinned and leaned over her. “You know, I don't much like the idea of handing you over to someone who wants to torture or make an example out of you. Instead, I could kill you and fulfill my contract…” A hand came up to her face and a bare finger traced her delicate jaw. “But then taking the life of such a ravishing creature would make me feel like such a terrible man—worse than I already am.”

She stared back at him in silence, her beautiful blue pools still reflecting the promise of a slow, painful death. 

“Or… I could be your knight in shining armor and set you free. Hmm… Decisions, decisions…” Zevran slowly sat up and rested his chin on a fist, seemingly pensive as he stared at her. “What say you? Shall I just roll the dice and we find out what happens together? Yes, I think I would rather try that.” With a chuckle, he produced a small, triangled envelope from one of his bags and held it between two fingers for her to see. “I will help you out of your little predicament. Just please promise not to kill me after I do, all right? A life for a life.”

There was a pause, then her eyes softened, which was a good enough answer for him. 

“Good girl…” he murmured, then knocked his head back to pour the antidote into his mouth. After tossing the now empty envelope, he slowly lowered himself upon her and pressed his lips to hers, parting them with his tongue.

_ What is he…?  _ Indignation flared up inside her and she whimpered in protest. But it all started to make sense when she felt the now moist powder slide into her mouth. She swallowed, groaning weakly against the elf’s lips as a warm sensation gradually spread over her. 

He released a pleasurable sound, enjoying the softness of her moist petals as his tongue gently stroked hers. There was no more antidote in his mouth to give her and it was time to withdraw. But by the Maker, was it difficult to pull away from her. To let go of this delicious mouth and these soft, rounded lips. If only he could continue to explore her. To taste her well into the sunrise until she lay in a breathless heap. 

The door flew open. “Everil!”

Zevran quickly withdrew from her flushed face, head snapping in the direction of the voice. “Oh! You’re alive?” he said with genuine surprise, immediately recognizing the intruder's stunned features. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then smiled broadly. “That means you beat Thorpe! Very impressive...”

For two seconds Alistair stood there, slacked jawed and rooted to the spot as his brain caught on to the image of the assassin kissing Everil's bound form. He clenched his jaw when shock gave way to searing rage, eyes turning murderous as his hand flew to the hilt of his sword. Which made Zevran quickly realize just how bad the scene he'd walked into really looked.

"W-Wait… I can explain,” he attempted to clarify, but the Grey Warden drew his weapon, and in three strides, he was on him. He was grabbed by the front of his leathers, lifted from the mattress and slammed onto the nearest wall as the cold steel of a blade pressed to his throat. “Wait!” he gasped, the edge scraping his adam's apple. “Let me expl—!”

“Save it, you son of a bitch!” Alistair yelled at his face, itching to slice him open. “You took her away, left me for dead, and now I find you trying to force yourself upon her! There's not a damn thing you can say that'll keep me from ending you!” 

With a click of his tongue, the assassin pulled his weapon and ducked, slithering out of his grasp like a phantom and leaving only a cloak in his hand. Alistair found himself facing the empty wall, shocked and with a dagger pointed at his pulse. While Zevran shook his head, mockingly chastising him. “You’ve got it all wrong, Warden. Your friend was paralyzed by the woman I work with and I was giving her the antidote. She couldn’t swallow it on her own so I helped her,” he tried to reason with him, but couldn't resist the smirk that spread over his face. “Though I admit it was hard to stop tasting those lips of hers…”

“You…!” Alistair dropped the cloth and shoved the dagger away with his gauntlet. He whirled around and slashed, their blades clashing with a resounding clank. 

A grin spread over the elf’s lips, arms shaking as he held his sword back. “You don’t take jokes very well, do you?” 

“Shut up!” he growled, parried away his daggers, and swung again.

Zevran backed up, easily blocking the hits as the Warden continued to attack him. He ducked, dodging a diagonal slash while retreating further. Their weapons collided once more, Alistair’s heavier strikes forcing him to take one, then two steps back. He leaned to evade as the sword narrowly missed his nose. And then he spun, deflected another hit, and delivered a swift kick at his ankles, sweeping his feet up from under him. Alistair fell and hit the floor, and in a blink of an eye, the elf pinned him like a lion would its prey, with a knee on his stomach and a dagger to the jugular.

Alistair’s breath caught in his throat.

“You lose...” Zevran declared with a wicked grin.

“Curse you…” The Warden gritted his teeth, feeling the edge of the blade lightly pierce his skin. 

“Maybe I shall kill you, instead of her,” he purred as if seducing a lover, leaning over slightly to lock his gaze with his. “One Grey Warden is better than none, and I can just blame the rest on someone else. No one would be the wiser.”

Amber eyes narrowed, anger and frustration swirling inside them. How could he have been defeated by someone like him? He needed to survive. To save her and stop the Blight. And yet here he was, with the dagger pressing deeper as fear crept up his spine.

“Zev… ran… N-No…!”

Upon hearing his name, he blinked out from his murderous spell and gazed towards the bed. The other Warden was struggling to prop herself up against the headboard while pleading to him. Those once fearsome eyes were now riddled with desperation, the fire in them completely extinguished. That expression... weak and afraid. It simply didn’t suit her in the least.

Everil gulped and finally found her voice. “Please… don’t.”

Taking advantage of the brief distraction, Alistair tried to punch Zevran off of him but hit only air. The elf slithered away, putting distance between them and picking his cloak up from the floor in the process. In one swift move, he threw it over his shoulders, then gave him a toothy grin. “Too slow.”

“Bastard…” Alistair sat up, sword at the ready, and expecting another attack. But it never came. The assassin was already standing by the only window in the room, white drapes flowing around him with the light breeze.

“Looks like today’s your lucky day, Grey Warden,” Zevran teased, releasing a velvety chuckle. “That noble lady appears to care enough about you to actually throw away her pride and beg me for your life.” He sighed in disappointment, sheathing his weapon. “Odd as it may be, I find myself not wanting to see such an ugly look on her beautiful face. So against my better judgment, I shall comply with her wishes and let you live.”

He turned to Everil, the smirk softening into a seductive smile as he bowed to her. “We shall meet again soon, my dear. Please do leave here in one piece. After all... it was not only I who sought to claim your life.” The wind blew the drapes over him like waves over a beach, and when they floated back down, he was gone.

Alistair got on his feet and rushed to look out the window, finding only the darkness of the ocean as it met with the black skies above. The assassin disappeared into the night as if he were death itself, leaving no trace of where he went. Huffing in irritation, he sheathed his sword and hurried towards the bed. Everil was feebly trying to untie herself when he sat at the edge, and almost desperately, reached over to set her free. Unsteady arms promptly wrapped about his neck and he held her tightly, burying his nose in the crook of her neck. “Maker's breath, I’m so glad you’re safe…” he breathed, a great wave of relief washing over him. 

“So am I… I thought the Crows… and Zevran…” Everil murmured shakily and withdrew to gaze up at him with deep concern, a hand over the patch of dried blood staining his armor. “You’re injured…”

“I was a little but Wynne took care of it, so no big deal. Let’s just worry about you right now, all right?” He offered her a small smile, careful fingers stroking her hair. “Can you stand?”

She swallowed and nodded slowly. “I can. But I’m not sure how well I can walk… My entire body still feels… numb…”

“Then we'll have to work together.” He frowned and glanced briefly at the door. “Leliana should be taking care of Howe’s men, but I need to get you out of here in case they somehow manage to survive her and come pay us a visit. I'll help you up.”

“Got it…” Everil replied, trying to shift her weight to the edge of the mattress. 

Alistair wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her to her feet, one of hers still over his shoulders for support. “Just take one step at a time…” he instructed as the two of them slowly made their way to the door.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Len met the soldiers just outside the brothel’s back door, the darkness concealing them from prying eyes. “About time you showed up,” said the only knight commanding the group, voice muffled by his helmet while the steel of his armor reflected the moonlight.

“She's all yours.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder, then extended her arm with an open hand. “Now, pay up.”

“What?” he scoffed, pinning her with a contemptuous glare. “Did you honestly think I would just pay you without having the girl first? Are you stupid?”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “But... the deal was—”

The knight leaned forward, so close she could see his green eyes through the narrow slots of his great helm. “The  _ deal _ was a fair trade: The last Cousland for the coin. You're taking me to her first.”

“All right, fine!” Len let out a frustrated breath. “Follow me.” She spun on her heel, cursing under her breath and leading the men inside. As they stepped into the dark storeroom, a sound came from above, making the group stop and reach for their weapons. 

“What was that?” whispered one of the soldiers, gazing up towards the wooden beams and seeing only darkness. “I don’t—”

Two hands shot out, took hold of his head, and twisted, breaking his neck with a sickening crack. His body crumbled to the ground, while the others turned to watch in shock, unaware of what caused him to fall dead. They hurried forward, then another soldier followed, and Len could immediately tell there was another assassin in the room with them. 

“Damn it!” She drew her blades, looking up at the dark ceiling, where only a bit of moonlight filtered through the cracks between the wood boards. The knight gritted his teeth, drawing his own blade. “We're sitting ducks here. We have to keep moving!”

Len clicked her tongue. “Just... run!”

The remaining three men made for the door, only to be halted by a female form that dropped from above. She fell on a knee and slowly rose, weapons in hand, and smirking at the Crow. Leliana's seductive voice reached their ears while the men fidgeted nervously. “Sorry, but I can't allow you to go any further.” 

“Who in damnation are you?” Len spat at the stranger’s intrusion. These bastards had her coin and she had to make sure they lived to make it to the Grey Warden.

“Someone whose friend you took,” she answered with a hint of anger.

Len arched a red eyebrow. “So you're another Grey Warden? I thought there were only two left.”

“I am no Warden but I am their comrade nonetheless. And I will make you regret ever crossing our path.” Leliana bent the knees, dropping into a fighting stance while flipping her blades. And she bolted into motion, darting towards Howe’s knight. 

A loud clank was heard when her daggers clashed against Len’s, the Crow having jumped in between the two. “Hurry and go! I'll take care of her," she shouted, struggling against Leliana's strength while the nun simply stared at her through icy blue eyes.

The three men quickly went around, dashing for the door. Leliana tried to stop them but Len moved to stand in her way, glowering at her. “You’re gonna pay for getting in my way!”

“We’ll see about that.” Leliana stepped up and struck at her, forcing the assassin to block. She parried her weapon out of the way and spun, swinging round. Len ducked to dodge, the blade swooshing over her head. They both slashed at each other, weapons clashing with each attack as their weapons flashed in the dark. 

Leliana shifted, avoiding a slash before kicking at her feet. Flipping backward, Len avoided it, landing a distance away and reaching for the knives at her belt. She flung them in one fluid motion while Leliana ran, avoiding them as they stuck to the wall behind her. 

“You can’t beat me!” Len boasted, pulling her mask up and releasing one of her flasks. It landed by Leliana’s feet, releasing a shroud of smoke that enveloped everything in the storeroom. And the Crow laughed, readying her daggers to go in for the kill when lithe arms snaked around her neck from behind, surprising her. 

“Do you know what makes a good assassin?” Leliana whispered seductively into her ear, a delicate hand taking hold of the Crow's mask. “Immunity to your own tricks.” She yanked her mask off, forcing her to breathe in the gas she’d just unleashed. Len gasped for air as the poison burned through her muscles, taking away her ability to move. It then paralyzed her lungs, robbing her of oxygen and suffocating her on the spot.

“I was trained to build resistance against such things by one of the best assassins in Orlais, you see. It seems you didn’t receive the same sort of training.” Leliana shook her head, clicking her tongue in mock pity. “Such a shame...” Having had enough of the squirming, she plunged her dagger into Len's back, the tip cutting through and out her chest. “May the Maker take you,” she murmured in her ear one last time, then let her fall unceremoniously to the floor, blood pooling beneath her body as she struggled to breathe.

With her work done, Leliana swung her weapon clean and sheathed it at her hip. She glanced at the door the soldiers used to enter the brothel. They’d slipped past her and were no doubt reaching the Wardens by now. Which meant they probably needed her help. 

“Curses…” She spun on her heel and rushed out of the room. While the Crow watched her go, left to bleed out in the dark, alone, and terrified.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Everil groaned as her body gradually regained feeling, her muscles tingling with the blood flow. She and Alistair had left the room and were trudging along the empty hallway, with her still clinging to him out of fear of falling. They could hear music and laughter coming from the bar, while sounds of pleasure came from the rooms they passed. Everyone around them was clearly having a good time, oblivious to their presence. And they had to keep it that way, so they moved quietly and as quickly as they possibly could, given her unsteady steps.

“Easy…” Alistair whispered to her.

“I can’t believe I let this happen,” she muttered, disappointed in herself. They had so many important things to do against the Blight, yet here she was. In some stinking brothel after having been abducted like an idiot. 

“This wasn’t your fault. We couldn't have known Loghain would go this far to get to us.”

“Yes, but...” she sighed tiredly, shaking her head. “I slowed us down…”

He chuckled and grinned lightly at her. “Nah... Don’t worry. We'll return to the ritual dismemberments by supper tomorrow and then we'll be back on schedule. I'm sure the darkspawn will be patiently waiting for us.”

Everil laughed lightly. “Right.”

After a few more steps, she felt her footing become steadier, giving her a little more confidence in her balance. "I think… I think I'm all right now.” She paused and withdrew her arm from about his shoulders, careful to hold her own.

Alistair frowned worriedly. “Are you sure?”

She smiled a little. "Yes, I'm sure."

Heavy footsteps and the clanking of armor drew their attention away from each other as three well-armed men emerged from around the corner down the hall. They came to a halt a distance from them, effectively blocking their way out. A knight led the small group, face hidden behind his helmet while the two soldiers behind him regarded them with severe looks.

“Oh, great…” Alistair grumbled, gently pushing Everil behind him to stand between her and Howe's men.

“Two Grey Wardens? I was under the impression that the other was to be killed as agreed. It seems the assassins failed in their task,” the knight spoke, a smirk in his voice. “No matter. Neither of you will get away now.”

Alistair pulled out his blade, staring him down. “Wanna bet?”

“What does Howe want with me?" Everil questioned from over his shoulder. “He’s already stolen everything from my family. Is he not satisfied?”

“That’s for Teyrn Howe to decide." He calmly, reached out to her, sword in hand. “Now, Warden Cousland, please come with us to the Teyrn’s Denerim estate. I promise you won’t be harmed… at least not yet.”

"Sorry but she's not going anywhere with you,” Alistair stepped in with a threatening glare. “There's only three of you now, so I take it two of your men didn't survive our rogue. Make the smart choice and leave us alone. There doesn’t need to be any more bloodshed."

“I can’t do that,” the knight declined in a cocky tone. “I have orders to bring her in alive. And if that means going through you, then that's what I'll do. I might as well claim the bounty on your head while I'm at it.”

“Fine…” Alistair aimed his sword at him. “Then go ahead and try."

“Get them!” the knight cried out as he and his men charged.

The Warden blocked his attack, blades screeching as he parried him off and drove his sword into the wall beside them. With a roar, the knight plucked it from the wood boards and slashed sideways, foolishly leaving himself open. Alistair thrust in, piercing the armor and plunging his sword into his gut and out his back. 

Before he could pull the blade out of him, a soldier came rushing from around him. Alistair blocked his blade with a gauntlet, let go of his weapon and grabbed him before slamming him onto the wall, the man's head bouncing off of it on impact. Seeing colors, the soldier dropped to the ground, disarmed, and in a daze. Another cry was heard as the third enemy stormed towards the Wardens with a blade. Alistair stepped up to the now kneeling knight, put a foot to his chest, and shoved, reclaiming his sword in time to block the next one’s attack. 

“You're gonna be mine, Grey Warden!” he roared, breaking the stalemate and slashing sideways, while Alistair avoided it. Their weapons then met once more. 

“Sorry but you're not my type,” Alistair taunted with a wink, pushing against him. He drew back and struck, multiple clanks resonating in the narrow corridor as their weapons clashed again and again. Behind them, a few patrons and prostitutes poked their heads out from their rooms, covering their bodies with sheets and furs while voicing their confusion. The soldier who had been left shaken on the floor let out a curse and slowly pushed himself up, searching for his sword.

"Looking for this?"

He gazed up to see the blade being pointed at him by the woman he'd been sent to capture. His hand flew to a dagger at his belt and he swung, knocking the sword away. Everil gritted her teeth, her grip holding in spite of the tingling in her muscles. She held the hilt with both hands and blocked another strike, ignoring the pain while her arms screamed under the strain. Her blood pumped as her limbs regained their motion, her strength returning along with it. She pushed him off and spun, leading with the pommel and hitting the side of his head, briefly stunning him. 

She withdrew and thrust, seeking to end him. But although recovering, he was still faster than her. The man narrowly dodged it, took hold of her arm, and shoved her. Her back hit the wall, then she was thrown to the floor and on her knees. He grabbed her from behind and lifted her, wrapping an arm about her neck to choke her into submission. "Give up and come quietly, Cousland!" he yelled into her ear, pressing the dagger to her side.

Alistair quickly glanced over the shoulder upon hearing him and then punched the one he'd been fighting, knocking him back. His blade then found his stomach, running him through before he pushed him and whirled about, intent on saving her. But as she found herself trapped, anger and the primal urge to survive surged within her. 

With an enraged scream, Everil brought her legs up and kicked the wall in front of her, sending them crashing onto the one across from it. The dagger nicked at her armor on impact, but his hold on her loosened just enough for her to wedge herself free. She whirled around and slashed, cutting open his neck and sending red spraying over her and the floorboards. His body crumbled to its knees as he choked in his own blood, then dropped forward with a thud. 

Running steps drew her wide eyes to Alistair, her hands still clasping the weapon. 

“Hey, are you all right?" He gently cupped her cheek, his touch snapping her out of her fight or flight trance.

“Y-Yes...” Everil replied shakily, dropping the bloodied blade and letting it clatter by her feet. 

"Good. Let's get out of here." He took her hand and pulled her with him through the rest of the corridor, heading for the tavern. Behind them, the men and women warily left their rooms, gazing at the bleeding corpses.

Both Wardens emerged from the hallway and into the walkway above the bar, halting in their tracks when several patrons spotted them. “Hey, those are Grey Wardens!” one of them yelled above the noise, echoed by others as they spotted their bright griffon armor, having been too preoccupied trying to escape to keep them hidden.

“Aren’t Grey Wardens criminals?” another yelled drunkenly. 

“Aye, Aye… There's a bounty on them… A nice, big one.”

Alistair swallowed and stepped protectively in front of her when some of them rose from their seats and armed themselves. This was all they needed. To battle a room full of drunks, with one of them barely able to fight. He clenched his jaw, tightening the grip on his weapon. "Damn it…"

“Why are they covered in blood?” a woman asked, covering her mouth as she gasped. “Did they kill someone upstairs?”

As if on cue, the knight from earlier had somehow managed to get up and follow them, limping out from the corridor and dragging his sword behind him. He roared and tried to swing it at them, crimson dripping heavily from his open gut. Alistair brought his blade up to block the feeble attack, deflecting it to the side and away from them. Weakened by blood loss, the knight lost his balance and stumbled before Alistair kicked him over the rail, sending him plummeting to the floor below. He crashed onto a table, destroying it and sending the occupants screaming away from the corpse.

The entire place grew quiet, then whispers of the violent and traitorous nature of Grey Wardens filled the silence. Everil felt a spark of anger at their fearful, hateful words, her narrowed stare traveling over the small crowd of undesirables. It was unclear to her if whatever the Crow did to her was clouding her judgment or if she was stressed to the breaking point. But she was sick of it. Tired of it all.

She and Alistair were risking their lives trying to save this country and the very people currently judging them. But while she thought these people utterly ungrateful, their ignorance was not the real recipient of her ire. Loghain was the one constantly placing obstacles in their path and spreading these lies to the common folk, allied with the man who took everything from her. There was no doubt this scene was about to bolster the rumors both traitors have concocted about them, aggravating their already dire situation, and further tarnishing their reputation.

A scowl dawned over her features and she stepped around Alistair, seeking to put an end to those dark whispers.

“Everil…” he called softly, gently grabbing her arm, only to be silenced when she raised a hand to stop him. He reluctantly let her go, concern creasing his brow.

Everil put on an obstinate expression, approaching the railing with confidence. There was no way she would allow the liars and the traitors to paint them as being on the wrong side of history. They needed to learn that they wouldn't be silenced. To be shown they couldn't stop them or slander them out of existence. And this crowd of sailors, soldiers, merchants, and whores would serve as their messengers.

"Know that I was dragged here against my will by assassins hired by none other than Teyrn Loghain,” she spoke in a voice filled with conviction as her eyes surveyed the room, seeing them listen while some carried stunned expressions. “We Grey Wardens were therefore forced to defend ourselves against them and against those who still seek to end our lives in his name. Loghain claims we betrayed the king at Ostagar...” Her words grew louder, laced with contempt. “We say he killed our king when he rode off with his men and left us all to die at darkspawn hands! We Grey Wardens say he’s a traitor to you and to all of Ferelden!”

A few gasps were heard, while others grumbled protests. Leliana stood just outside of view, listening to her talk with a small smile.

Everil continued, lifting her chin proudly. “He tries to silence our truth by sending assassins to do his bidding or by using falsehoods to turn you against us! But know that in spite of his efforts to foil us, we shall not rest until the Blight is defeated and Loghain is brought to justice for his betrayal!” She brought her fist down on the wooden rail, her sharp stare upon them. “Let the deaths of this knight and his men be a warning to all who dare stand in our way! For nothing—and no one—will ever stop us in our fight against the darkspawn threat that comes for you all! Nothing and no one—not even a false king—will ever keep justice from us!” She raised her fist, crying out, “Justice for the Grey Wardens! And justice for King Cailan!"

She didn’t know if it was the ale talking, but to her surprise, the majority of the crowd cheered. They banged their hands and pints on their tables, howling and cheering for her. While behind her, Alistair regarded her with quiet admiration, his chest swelling with pride.  _ Maker… She's something else… _

A hooded Zevran watched from a dark corner in amazement. This woman had been ill just moments ago, yet she still managed to command the authority of a general. The way she talked and that regal posture as she stood, covered in her enemy's blood while addressing whores and drunks with unwavering blue eyes. It was the most inspiring thing he’d ever witnessed, producing in him the intense desire to follow her. He wished to be part of this quest of hers and fight for her. To watch her back and lend her his blades. 

_ Perhaps… _ With a smirk, he made for the door, his mind now set.

Everil faced Alistair with renewed strength. “Let’s get out of here.”

He offered her a half-smile, happy to see her back to her old self. “Lead on.”

A relieved Leliana watched them from the shadows, then turned to leave through the same path from where she came. The Grey Wardens made their way down the stairs and through the crowd of cheering drunks, who parted for them and let them pass. They exited the brothel, leaving behind those who would soon spread their words throughout Denerim and beyond.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Morrigan was listening to the ocean and staring off at the docked ships when Bjorn let out an excited bark. She gazed towards The Pearl as the others did the same, seeing the pair walking in their direction. It seemed the Warden was unharmed, and she found herself a little surprised by the hint of relief that brought her. Still, she glared at them in irritation as they approached. "'Tis about time." 

The hound ran to Everil, panting happily, while she took a knee to scratch behind his ear. “I’m sorry I worried you, boy."

“He wasn’t the only one, young lady. We were all concerned. I'm glad to see both of you are safe," said Wynne, clasping her aging hands over her skirts. 

“You left us to follow Alistair, of all people. Utterly irresponsible,” Morrigan muttered, crossing her arms.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes. Because the hermit witch would've done a much better job.”

Everil hopelessly shook her head, already feeling better upon being reunited with them. Only, there was one missing, her red hair nowhere to be seen. She frowned quizzically. “Where’s Leliana?”

“She was to sneak in and try to take care of the men we fought earlier…” Alistair replied, glancing at the brothel. “I assumed she would be back by now.”

“I  _ am _ back.”

Their heads spun to their rogue’s velvet voice, seeing her by a stack of crates a distance behind them. And she wasn’t alone. A hooded figure was standing before her, white teeth showing as he grinned, unfazed by the dagger currently pressed against his neck. 

Everil blinked. “That’s…”

“It's that damn Crow who attacked us before." Alistair glowered at him. "What do you want? Did you come to finish the job?”

The elf raised both hands as he was forced to step towards the Wardens, the woman's blade gracing his skin. "Oh, yes…" Zevran put on a teasing smirk. "You could say I came for another kiss...”

“You—” Alistair went to draw his sword but Everil's hand on his chest stopped him. 

“Wait,” she commanded, keeping hard eyes on Zevran.

The elf chuckled at the other man's reaction. He was outnumbered, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t at least have a little fun. Amused, Zevran scrutinized their little group. He hadn’t expected them to have these many oddballs but it wasn’t like he was all that normal himself. “So what is to be my fate, hm? Am I to be torn apart by the family dog?” he jested, earning a menacing growl from the hound.

“No…" Everil stepped closer, regarding him cooly. “Fortunately for you, I honor the deals I make. Though, there is one thing I want to do to you.”

“Oh? My lips must have softened you up a little…” Zevran snickered shamelessly. “What is it, hm? Perhaps another—” Her hand connected with his cheek, the slap echoing through the narrow alleyway. He blinked the colors away, face burning as he returned his gaze to her. “All right, maybe not…”

She gave him a dignified stare, adjusting her cloak. “You may have helped me back there but no one touches me without my permission.” 

“Fair enough,” Zevran laughed, attempting to recover from the blow to his pride while licking his lips. “Now that that’s out of the way… May I make a humble request?”

“Make it quick,” she said curtly, hands over her hips. He had spared her life when he could have easily killed her, the least she could do was listen to him. 

He smirked slyly. "That little speech you gave back there made me realize that my purpose in life has been rather... dull. I feel it is time for a change. Let me join your cause.”

The group exchanged glances, not expecting the request after his assassins abducted and nearly killed two of their own.

“Quite daring of you, elf,” Morrigan pointed out with a raised brow, thinking him either brave or stupid.

Alistair sternly stepped in. “No. He’s not to be trusted, and I damn well don’t want to have to watch my back every night because of him.”

“I agree.” Everil set her hard stare upon him. “How can we trust you? For all I know, you could try to kill us again in our sleep.” 

Zevran chuckled. “Your caution is understandable but you must know how the Crows work. I couldn’t go back to them now even if I wanted to. They would do away with me on the spot for failing to kill you the first time. Not to mention they’ll be looking for me the moment they get word of my failure.” 

“How do I know you speak the truth?”

“He’s speaking the truth,” Leliana interjected with a serious expression. “If a Crow can’t kill their target on the first attempt, they’re considered unreliable. That means the guild will send others to hunt and execute them.”

“It’s sort of like… damage control,” Zevran half-joked, grinning at the Wardens. “And a little incentive for us to get the job done right at any cost. After all, if the assassin fails and the target lives, their failure can spread like wildfire and make the Crows look bad. That damages the guild's image as the most fearsome assassins in all of Thedas. And believe you me, they very much value their reputation.”

Wynne eyed him warily. “Does that not mean they will send more assassins our way if you followed us?”

He shrugged a shoulder at her. “Yes. But I know their tricks. They would not catch us by surprise. Of course, that also means they might send more to try and finish my job. Your friends will probably not be safe from them either… at least for a while.”

Alistair huffed. “Wonderful...” 

“Which means it would be beneficial for you to bring me along. I can warn you ahead of time if I smell a Crow nearby.” He smiled teasingly, standing proudly.

“I’d rather take our chances. We defeated you already. We can do it again,” Alistair said, glaring at him.

“I don’t know…” Everil crossed her arms, a hand on her chin. “He seemed capable back at the brothel.”

“Yeah, capable enough to stab you in the back.” He shook his head and arched a questioning eyebrow at her. “Are you seriously considering taking him with us?”

She nodded confidently. “Grey Wardens don’t turn away help when it is offered. Not during a Blight.” 

“Yes, but we usually take it from people who didn’t just try to kill us.”

Zevran and the rest looked back and forth between the two, watching their exchange.

"I don’t think he will try anything." Everil insisted, tone firm. “Not after everything he's told us. I think we should give him a chance.” 

A sigh escaped him. “Everil, I don’t trust him.”

“Then trust me, instead. You're right to be cautious, but based on what Zevran said, we need him. If not for his skills, then as a precaution against others from his guild.”

Alistair turned away from her, folding his arms and exhaling in exasperation. He utterly disliked the idea. Especially after what the elf pulled on her earlier. But, whether he liked it or not, she was right in that the benefits ultimately outweighed the risks. So he had to think as a Warden and agree, even if he hated his guts. “If there weren’t a sign that we were desperate before, I think it just walked up and said hello,” he grumbled, disapproving eyes going back to her. “Fine. He can come with us… But—” He shot the elf a suspicious glare. “—I’ll be watching him.”

“All right.” Everil offered him a reassuring smile, then addressed Zevran, reaching for a handshake. “You’re on board.”

“Thank you, my lady.” He shook her hand, his sly grin broadening before he bent over to gently kiss it. “I am your man to do as you wish. I will fight for you and follow you until the edge of the world for as long as I am in your service. This I swear.”

“Oh, but this is gonna be great...” Alistair stalked past them, heading deeper into the alley without looking back.

She sighed helplessly. “Thank you, Zevran…”

Their journey just kept getting better and better.


	4. The Brecilian Forest

⚜

_ T _ _ hey were traveling south through _ the Brecilian Forest, a large expanse of traitorous woods in the east and where the Dalish elf caravan was last spotted. The leaves and branches above them formed a thick canopy, allowing only minimal light to shower over the forest floor and shrouding everything else in shadows. It reminded Everil much of the Korcari Wilds, sans the swampy waters, the murky scent of mud, and the rot darkspawn left in their wake. At least the forest smelled of pine and the occasional wildflowers. Though this side of Ferelden wasn't as beautiful as the fertile lands of The Hinterlands.

Everil cast worried eyes over her fellow Warden, who was riding just a few steps ahead of her. He'd been silent since before their departure from Denerim that morning, keeping to himself or staring off into space whenever she tried to speak with him. And she had the clear notion that the reason behind the change in his behavior was the elf now traveling with them upon her decision to recruit him.

Her chest constricted at the sudden lack of communication between them. She’d been thinking of what was best for them at the time. And although she was trying to make amends with him somehow, Zevran was not making her efforts any easier.

“Is your friend sick or something?” asked the aforementioned assassin as he approached her. He was riding the horse once belonging to Leliana, while she and Wynne now shared a ride to accommodate the additional body in their group. 

She sighed, eyeing Alistair's back as he led the way. “No... I'm sure he's fine.”

“Truly?” Zevran raised a doubtful eyebrow at her. “He has been moping about for quite a while now. Perhaps he should consider returning to The Pearl and lay with one of their lovely ladies.”

Alistair glanced over his shoulder, shooting him a warning glare. “I can hear you, you know…”

“I am only making an honest suggestion, my friend—one that has worked for me many times before. After all, there is no better activity to relieve stress than a long night of hot, passionate sex.”

“Oh, Maker help me…” Alistair groaned miserably, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Why ask for His help when I could tell you all you need to know to relieve yourself?” He boasted with a hand on his hip while proudly riding his horse. “The ladies in Antiva love me. I even have quite a reputation. I could tell you about parts of the female body you've never heard could be used to pleasure them into oblivion. Whatever you've done to a woman before would not compare. I can even teach you positions that will bring both you and the lucky girl into nothing short of ecstasy.”

“No, thanks…” Alistair grumbled while a blushing Everil stared at the elf as if he'd grown a second head. 

“Very well, your loss... But I think you should consider my advice. You will feel much better afterward, I assure you.” Zevran sent her a seductive grin and winked at her. At which she smiled awkwardly and looked away, trying not to give the man any ideas.

They found a small body of water for the horses after a few more hours of riding. And Everil took the opportunity for them to set up camp for the night, deciding it was best not to risk exploring further in the dark. There was still no trace of the Dalish elves and their caravan, but they would resume their search in the morning. 

Her hammer hit the last of her tent’s stakes and Everil stood, wiping her brow before gazing around the clearing. Morrigan was off on her own again, reading her mother's grimoire by her personal campfire. Sten was also a distance away while the rest of her companions sat closer to a much larger fire in the middle of the camp. Their horses were grazing nearby, foraging the ground for roots and bits of grass. Movement off to the side had her turn her head to see Alistair step out from his tent and trudge towards the heat of the fire while staring at his feet. He took a seat on the ground beside it and propped an arm up on one leg, then his shoulders rose and fell in a visible huff.

_ Yep… Still upset... _ She hopelessly shook her head and made her way to him, her hound following closely. A sigh escaped her as she sat to his left, sensing the awkwardness in the atmosphere.  _ “ _ All right, what's wrong?” She turned to him, whispering so only he could hear. “Why have you been so quiet lately?”

Alistair didn't look at her. “I don't know what you're talking about…”

“Oh, please… That there is the longest you have spoken to me since before we left Denerim. You nearly remind me of Sten, with all the grunting and the one-word responses.”

He cast his eyes down, still avoiding her. “It's nothing. It’s just been a long couple of days and I’m tired."

“We've had long days from the very beginning, Alistair. Yet you've never acted this way towards me before.”

“Look…” He inhaled deeply through the nose, responding in an even voice. “All right... I’m the problem and I don’t know how to deal with it right now. So just... leave me be.”

“I know it’s because of Zevran,” she probed further, her whispers more insistent. “Because I let him join us and you’re still unhappy over me making that decision for us.”

“Please stop...”

“No.” She frowned with concern. “I need you to speak to me. You can't expect me to stop when you continue to ignore me and refuse to―”

“Fine!” Alistair hissed at her with a glare he’d never directed at her before. “What do you want me to say? Shall I comment on how amusing it is to listen to your new friend’s sexual commentary? Or perhaps I should tell you just how  _ wonderful  _ it is to watch him leer over you like a mabari drools over a piece of meat.”

Everil stared in shock at his outburst and she blinked a few times, realization dawning on her. “Wait… You're jealous?”

“I'm not jealous!” he loudly and vehemently protested, receiving curious looks from those around them. Deflating under their stares, he huffed stubbornly and attempted to ignore them, blushing madly whilst turning away from her. “I just… I can’t stand him...”

An amused chuckle disrupted their quiet bickering, the abruptness of it earning her another glare from him. “I'm glad you find this so funny…” he grumbled bashfully, pursing his lips like a child.

“No, I don’t think it’s funny... I find it endearing.”

“Endearing?” Alistair shot her a bewildered look, whispering again. “What about my being upset is endearing?”

“It’s endearing because you don’t want to share me with anyone...” She seductively leaned in, boldly placing a hand on his thigh. “You want to keep me all to yourself, don’t you? To claim me as your own so that no man can have me but you.”

His jaw dropped and his brain malfunctioned, failing to formulate a competent comeback. “I… Uhm… I…” 

“Yes?” Everil tilted her head, waiting patiently for him to form some sort of sentence structure. She watched him open and close his mouth like a fish, her smile never fading. 

Groaning, Alistair ran a hand down his face, slightly aroused, embarrassed, and increasingly frustrated. “All right, that’s it! We need to talk!" He grabbed her hand and got on his feet, pulling her up with him. Bjorn rose to follow, but Alistair halted him. "You stay here, boy." The hound tilted his head but obeyed, watching him take her away with him. She followed without protest, also wondering what came over him.

A curious Zevran looked on from his sitting position a short distance away, seeing their retreating forms before they disappeared behind the privacy of the trees. He cast a questioning glance towards Leliana, who simply smirked at him and quietly nodded her head. 

“Oh…” His gaze dropped to the ground and he chuckled, scratching his cheek with one finger. “Well, that explains a lot...”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

They trekked through the brush until they reached the creek outside of camp, the sound of rolling water greeting them. Gentle moonlight illuminated the narrow clearing, filtering through in white and blue beams that bathed everything they touched. A faint, yellow glow flickered against the bushes, originating from their campfire a distance away. Now that they were alone, Alistair turned to face her. For a few seconds, he didn’t speak, instead seemingly pausing to look over her features.

Uncertainty furrowed her brow, his piercing stare nearly stealing her breath away. “Al—“

“You don’t get it, do you?” A hand gently cupped her cheek, his touch effectively silencing her as he stepped closer. He intently gazed upon her, the earlier resentment vanishing and giving way to tenderness. “I was so terrified… So desperate when they took you… I… I’ve never felt that way before.”

His words caused her heart to skip a beat and then warmth filled her. She hadn't realized just how much he really cared about her, even after hearing him say it days before. Everil bit her lip guiltily at having put him through so much, but before she could say anything, he continued to speak. 

“And then…” Alistair swallowed as if struggling with the memory. “When I walked in on him all over you… I just… lost it…” He let out a breath and shook his head. “Every time I see him look at you it reminds me of how I couldn’t protect you from them and how much worse things couldn’t have turned out had he not decided to let you go. I just can't help hating him and hating myself over everything. So I’ve been trying to deal with it ever since we left Denerim.”

Everil inwardly kicked herself for not having thought of it this way before. Of course, he'd be this unhappy about the assassin tagging along. Not only were they separated by the Crows, but Zevran’s original intention had been to kill them. A deed he would have followed through on, had he not failed to begin with. Now, after all he'd done, he was traveling with them as if nothing happened. With little to no punishment, aside from the slap she gave him.

But despite it all, they needed him for something greater than them. A task that was more important than how they felt about their uncomfortable situation. Everil looked to the ground, feeling a hint of shame at having to defend the indefensible. “I understand how you feel, Alistair… But… Well… We do need—”

“I know,” he interrupted, a little more forcefully than he'd intended. A deep breath escaped him. “I know we need help, regardless of where it comes from or how I feel about it… It's the Grey Warden way. I just need some time to get over it, is all.” 

“I'm sorry…”

“No, I…” Alistair cleared his throat, shyly wrapping his arms around her waist while hers slid over his shoulders. “I'm the one who's sorry… for having acted so foolishly towards you.” He pouted a little, giving her his best impression of her hound's begging eyes. “Would you ever forgive me?”

“Hmm…” Everil put on a flirtatious smirk. “That depends…”

He gulped, shuddering slightly at the look she was giving him. “On what, exactly…?”

“On you kissing me…”

A deep chuckle escaped him as he leaned ever so closer, his nose nearly touching hers. “You have a deal…” Then his lips sealed hers and the stress from the prior days seemed to fade slowly as she melted into his arms, searching for his refuge. She ached for more of it, to grab onto him and never let go. To taste him and find the peace they craved as she sought to deepen the kiss.

Alistair gladly allowed her entrance into his mouth while also invading hers, releasing a pleased sigh. Tongues danced in steadier rhythm than before, warm breaths intertwining in the cool air of the forest. Surrounded by the wilderness, they let the quiet fool them into thinking themselves alone. All the while ignoring the presence of those just past the wall of trees and brush bordering their camp.

A content sound reached his ears when he held her tighter, reveling on the way her curves felt against him. The melody of her breaths and quiet whimpers drowned away his thoughts, causing his pulse to quicken as his urges overtook the nerves. He continued to freely explore her mouth, releasing a heavy breath as his now daring hands slid to the small of her back. Itching to descend even further and cup that well-rounded rear of hers. 

Raw need drove him as he kissed her more fervently, drawing a whimper out of her when his teeth grazed her bottom lip. He heard her moan as her fingers laced through his hair, chipping away at his self-control. Then in a blur of passion, he pinned her to a nearby tree, her back to the trunk as his strong body pressed against her own. 

A muffled moan escaped her and she felt him grind against her, their armor frustratingly keeping their bodies apart. The way he devoured her lips took her breath away, suffocating her, and forcing her to open her mouth into a gasp. But instead of moving away, his lips strayed, leaving a hot trail of moist kisses along her jaw and down her neck, his boldness earning him a needy groan.

He smiled inwardly upon hearing her, the desire to please her and hear more of her urging him on. Large hands slid to her hips as his tongue and teeth stroked the tender spot right under her ear, causing her to whine and quiver. The pressure that built up in his crotch quickly became almost unbearable and his instincts ran amok, seeking her and only her. It would only take a few moments to tear off her armor, to spread her legs, and to take her against this very tree. To make her his and pleasure her until they were finally satisfied.

“Alistair…” she whimpered feebly, his hot breath and firm grip setting her blood on fire. 

He froze, the sound of his name snapping him out of his feverish longing. And he panted for breath, standing as still as his shaking body allowed, as the bulge in his trousers pressed uncomfortably to the cold steel of his armor. While Everil bit her lip, waiting for him, her body begging for more. “I... We shouldn't,” he huffed into the crook of her neck.

Gentle hands slid down to rest upon his heaving chest, her voice filled with disappointment. “But… Why not...?”

“Because…” he gulped and pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his trembling hand coming to gently stroke her hair. “Because I want things to be certain between us first... I want us to know for sure what we're feeling for each other. To show you that you're not just any woman to me.”

“All right…” She whispered breathlessly, leaning into his touch. “I… I guess I understand…”

“Thank you..." Alistair grasped her hands as if touching her were, ironically, his only lifeline back to reality. He kissed the top of her gloved fingers, his eyes never leaving hers. Everil could only smile, lost in those amber pools, numb to the rest of the world and to their troubles. 

They looked at one another for a long moment, trying to calm their racing hearts, hesitating to move or speak as if doing so would disrupt their spell. “Now…" Alistair’s soft voice broke the silence first, giving her a small smile, breathing deeply. “What do you say we… go back to camp… before the others think we actually—” He cleared his throat. “—went through with it?”

“Would you care if they did…?” she asked softly, gazing at him through her lashes.

“Heh… I guess I wouldn't..." he muttered, leading her back towards the camp, a hand still holding hers. A smirk spread over his face and he sent her a glance over the shoulder. “Especially the elf…”

Everil chuckled, her heart soaring as she let him guide her back through the trees.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The group went deeper into the woods, following the traces of wagon wheels over the soil. After a while, ruins began to appear from under the foliage, tall white spires and statues from a time when the Tevinter Imperium ruled over the lands. The galloping of their horses was the only sound, their focus being the search for the wandering elves and staying alert for any trouble that may be hiding in the brush. The faint rustle of the leaves kept them on edge as shifting shadows were cast over the landscape. Their surroundings then darkened, the thickening of the canopy keeping as much light out as possible.

Everil sighed tiredly. It had been more than half a day since they set out again and still no trace other than the quickly fading grooves the elven land ships left behind. “Maybe they moved somewhere else?” she impatiently told her fellow Warden, who was riding next to her. 

“No, the only other place in Ferelden they could possibly be is in the deep south. And I’m pretty sure they already know about the Blight.” 

“They used to visit the Korcari Wilds from time to time. Their last visit was nearly thirty years ago. Or so my mother said,” Morrigan added from behind them. “Flemeth taught me much about their culture… And, let me tell you, that even though we have yet to see them, I am certain they already know we are here.” 

Everil looked over her shoulder at the witch. “You think they’re watching us?” 

She nodded. “They probably have been from the moment we stepped into the forest.”

“Oh… Truly?” She felt her face warm up and looked away, acting casual in spite of her embarrassment. _If that's true, then_ _Alistair and I probably gave them a bit of a show last night…_ He didn’t seem to realize that as she did, however, instead absently looking around.

“The Dalish are both reclusive and distrustful. They will defend their clan against anything and anyone they perceive as a threat to their people, and with good reason,” Morrigan said, disgust etched over her features. “First, the Tevinter Imperium enslaves them for centuries, destroying their culture and taking over their home in the Dales. Then, after the supposed prophetess Andraste helps set them free, the Chantry itself nearly wipes them out centuries after, all due to differences in their beliefs.”

“Ah… Yes, I remember learning about that," Everil muttered uncomfortably. Her family had once been devout Andrastians, loyal to the Chantry. But just as with anything else they believed in, she had her questions.

The grand majority of Fereldans followed the Andrastian faith and its teachings, making it difficult for nobility to go against the Chantry without some sort of backlash. Their influence gave them nearly as much power as the crown, and far more leverage to oppress people across the land without repercussions. It was something she didn’t agree with, especially after seeing it first hand at the Circle of Magi.

“Did Flemeth ever give you advice on how to speak with the Dalish?” Everil inquired solemnly.

Morrigan dipped her head with a stern look of her own. “Despite their ever so cautious nature, they will openly welcome any relationship that will benefit their clan as a whole. Be honest, avoid disrespecting their traditions, and offer something in exchange for their support. Doing this will no doubt earn you their trust.”

“A trust I wouldn't want to betray, I take it.” Everil frowned, suddenly feeling as if they were being watched.

“Indeed...” Morrigan smirked, completely agreeing with her. 

Moments passed as much larger structures of stone emerged around them, like a long-forgotten city, covered in greenery. Silence stretched for what felt like hours, the sounds of the forest filling the air. But the quiet peace was deceiving, for the brush around them suddenly moved and changed shapes. An arrow whistled by Everil’s ear, hitting a tree somewhere behind her. It was followed by more arrows that zoomed past them, somehow missing them as their horses whined and backed up in fear. "Ambush!" she cried out to her party as they swiftly dismounted. They all ran for the nearest cover, ducking behind bushes and hiding behind trees while more arrows were fired.

“Hold your fire!” Everil shouted from behind a tree she shared with Leliana. “We're not here for trouble!” A hollow snap was heard, telling her another arrow hit the bark near her head.

“Quiet, shem!” yelled a female voice. “You will not go near our camp without leave!” 

Another arrow flew past their tree, hitting the one closest to them.

“Fine! We seek leave to speak with your clan, please! It’s regarding a matter that affects all of us!”

There was a brief pause.

“State your business!”

Everil ran her tongue over her lips, knowing they were surrounded. By what Morrigan said, they controlled the forest, so they could have killed them already if they so wanted. “We’re Grey Wardens,” she declared firmly. "And we seek the help of the Dalish to fight the Blight.” 

“Lies! The Grey Wardens of Ferelden are no more!”

Frustrated, Everil reached into her bag and pulled out the old scroll, unrolling it before her. A seal of a tree was drawn over it, still clearly visible in spite of its old age. She drew in a breath, summoning her courage, and then emerged from behind the tree, hands raised while one held the scroll. “That’s not true! Two of us yet live!" Everil announced, lifting the scroll for them to see. “See for yourself!”

There was another pause, long and nail-biting. And slowly, the elves began to emerge from the shadows all around them, letting themselves be seen while blocking every possible exit. They wore the same colors of the forest on their tunics and leather gear, allowing them to blend in with the woods as if by magic. All wore swirling marks over their faces, trademark tattoos worn by the Dalish elves alone. They possessed the same physique as Zevran, small and slender when compared to a human’s figure, but their features were slightly different. 

The only female elf broke out from the ranks of men and stiffly approached her. She was a young woman—maybe a few years younger than herself—with short, brown hair framing her sunken cheeks and disproportionately large green eyes. She gave Everil a once over, eyeing the griffon on her breastplate. “I am called Mithra. Did they lower the standards in your order, Warden?”

“I’m Everil and the darkspawn horde is killing everything in its wake as we speak. So please just take us to your Keeper," she replied calmly, hiding her irritation at the insult to keep the peace.

The elf lifted her pointed chin, looking down her nose at the other woman before turning to her men. “Scout ahead. I will lead the shem to camp.”

With a bow of their heads, the elven males spread out, blending into the woods once more. The girl motioned for them to follow, then Everil and the others took hold of their horses’ reins and walked behind her on foot. She obviously didn't trust them, to the point where she was constantly looking over her shoulder as they trekked through the woods.

Alistair glanced worriedly to Everil, whispering to her while observing the elf. “I hope the others aren't this friendly... I mean, can you imagine?”

“I heard that.” The elf shot him a glare as they walked. He raised both hands in defense, putting on an apologetic smile that earned him another distrustful glower. 

A low growl coming from somewhere ahead made their guide freeze on the spot, her hands flying to the daggers on her back. “No…” Mithra breathed out. And before any of them could ask what was wrong, an agonizing scream cut through the silence, filling their ears with its terror. The female elf was moving now, leaving their group behind.

“Wait!” Everil called, then with a click of her tongue, glanced at her companions. “Morrigan and Sten come with us. The rest protect the horses.” They ran after her as the others stayed put, all drawing their weapons at her command. She and her chosen party rushed through bushes and hopped over roots, trying to catch up with the sprinting elf. Until a blur of muscle and fur leaped out from the trees, landing before them like a gust of wind, kicking dirt and leaves under its claws. Everyone halted in their tracks, the elf nearly falling back on her rear before screaming in terror. 

Everil's eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat as she took in its horrifying appearance. It was a monstrous wolf-like creature, standing on two legs, with the body and posture of a man. It took a heavy step towards them and let out a vicious roar, bloodstained canines dripping with drool and gore as its murderous glare fell over the petrified elf. It lifted its arm, talons ready to slash and tear at the woman's stunned form. 

Finally snapping out of her own shock, Everil found her movement and rushed in to stand between them, raising her sword. She blocked its attack and gritted her teeth under the force, her gaze locked with that of the beast.

It roared again as it struck with the other arm, while Everil leaned back just in time, sparks flying when its claws scrapped her breastplate. Letting out a grunt, she quickly swung in an arch and slashed at its chest, its blood splattering the bush beside it and staining it red. The wolf let out an ear-piercing howl of pain, staggering away from them. Wounded and enraged, it looked past the Warden directly at the still shaken elf behind her. It snarled at them, then whirled around, disappearing into the woods once more.

Mithra stumbled back as Everil cast her gaze upon her. 

“They got them... They got my party,” she muttered shakily, pale and quivering.

“Everil…”

She turned to Alistair as he looked towards the foliage, sword in hand. From the dark shadows, multiple pairs of glowing eyes stared back at them, surrounding them in much the same way the elves had before. Low growls resonated from them like an omen, then abruptly ceased when the eyes blinked away and disappeared. She pressed her lips together into a thin line, a terrible feeling sinking in. 

  
  



	5. In Search of Witherfang

⚜

  
  


_ W _ _ agons made up the Dalish camp _ , called Aravels in the elven tongue. Each one a work of art, carved from pine wood and adorned with colorful sails that helped carry them through the forests and open fields of Ferelden. They represented a sad period of an ancient past when the elves were cast out from their lands and left to wander Thedas without a home to call their own. As such, they were a valuable part of their culture and their identity. But although beautiful and magnificent to look at, right now their reds, greens, and blues were dulled by the sight that greeted them when they finally met the clan's Keeper.

“Werewolves…” Everil echoed quietly.

“That's right…” Zathrian somberly nodded a bald head, his withered hand gripping a mage’s staff. Unlike the scouts from before, he wore robes the color of pine and moss, while feathers decorated a charm hanging from his neck. He carried swirling marks over his forehead, easily visible over his pale, wrinkled skin. A sigh escaped him and he elaborated further, “They have been systematically attacking my people, dragging them out into the forest, never to be seen again. Those we manage to save are badly injured... As you can see.”

She folded her arms, casting a sympathetic look on the bloodied elves lying on the ground. There were many. All writhing in agony as the local healers cleaned and dressed their wounds.  _ How terrible… _

The Keeper continued, a hint of grief in his voice. “What is worse… is that those attacked appear to be cursed by those beasts. They will transform into the same creatures, mindless and savage, out for blood. So we will eventually be forced to end their suffering in order to prevent even more deaths, as well as the spread of the infection.” He sighed bitterly, his eyes downcast. “I am sorry, but regardless of the treaty signed by my predecessor, I cannot lend you our aid until I know my people are safe again.”

Sighing quietly, the Warden gazed over the injured once more. “Is there anything that can be done to help your people?”

Zathrian's expression subtly brightened with hope. “There is one thing... Obtaining the heart of the werewolf leader—Witherfang. Killing it can cure my people and eliminate the threat at its core. But… those I sent to accomplish this task never returned. Perhaps you and your companions have what it takes to get it done.”

“All right then…” She gave him a firm nod, finding they had little choice in the matter. They needed the elves in this war. “We will help you. But you must promise to keep your word and lend us your aid afterward.”

A smile tugged at his lips and he bowed his head. “Of course... You have my word, Grey Warden. But remember... Witherfang’s heart is the key.”

Everil didn’t miss the glint in his eyes when he mentioned the wolf leader’s name, the smirk on his face unnerving her. Something about him was off, but she couldn't quite place it. “So where do we start searching for this Witherfang?”

He aimed his staff towards the other side of camp and to a path leading further into the forest. “The last scouts I sent said they saw it near the ancient temple my people occupied long ago. Be careful, however... The temple may still be protected by magic meant to keep out intruders.”

“Understood.” Everil looked in the same direction and set her jaw, recalling their prior encounter with the creatures. There was no way of knowing how many of them awaited them in those woods or in that temple, and that alone concerned her. They would need to be careful along the way and return with the heart as quickly as possible.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The Wardens led the way on foot this time, followed by Bjorn, Morrigan, and Wynne after leaving the rest of their party to help protect the Dalish camp. And the deeper into the woods they went the more intricate the trails became. Their path twisted around the terrain, snaking through more Tevinter ruins and under natural bridges. The sound of a waterfall came from somewhere in the distance, joined by the rustling of leaves and the creaking of the branches swaying over them.

“This place…” Morrigan whispered with an involuntary shiver. “'Tis… filled with so much death. Possibly from old battles that took place in Ferelden’s ancient history.”

“I feel it too…" Wynne added sadly. “And as they say… Where there is too much death, the veil grows weak as the souls push through. I wouldn’t be surprised if the very trees around us carried wandering spirits from the Fade.”

Eventually, they entered an open area where a great waterfall poured its waters into a large pool. A series of wooden bridges were built over it, leading to the other side and to another path. They were walking through one when a shape ahead made Everil pause midway and extend her arm, halting the group. Narrowing her eyes, she watched as the fog dispersed and revealed a man-made-beast, its glowing eyes set upon them. 

She cautiously drew her weapon and began to edge closer while her friends did the same. However, the werewolf did not attack them this time. It spoke instead as she approached, in a voice deep and gruff. “You were sent by Zathrian… weren't you?"

Everil regarded him suspiciously, seeing more of the same sinister eyes hiding beyond the trees behind the creature. “I came to help his people… Why are you attacking them? Where is Witherfang?”

“You are an outsider… blinded by his lies. You know nothing of our suffering—of what this curse has done to us all." It barked and then snarled at her, showing sharp teeth. "And yet you seek our leader? I will not let you near her!”

_ So there was something the Keeper wasn't telling me, after all, _ Everil deduced inwardly, then spoke solemnly. “No, I’m not here at Zathrian’s behest… not exactly. If there’s something I must know that would keep us from fighting, I’m more than willing to listen.”

The monster seemed to hesitate, its attention flickering to her blade. “Hrm…”

Seeing this, Everil lifted a hand and sheathed her sword. “It’s all right. We won’t attack you,” she said, motioning for the others to also put away their weapons.

This visibly shocked the creature.

“My name is Everil.” She reached for a handshake. “Please, let us talk.”

He scrutinized her hand for a moment, still unsure of her intentions. Until reason triumphed over fear and it began to reach out. Large claws were about to clasp her much smaller hand when the snap of a bowstring was heard. An arrow shot out from the woods, gracing the wolf’s arm and taking the Warden by surprise. Howling in pain, the werewolf withdrew and struck, forcing Everil to drop on a knee and away from the sharp talons. Her head snapped in the direction of the trees, seeing movement as elves hid behind the brush.

“Kill them!” he roared before spinning about and making for the cover of the forest. The other werewolves charged at their leader’s command, stampeding through the shallow waters. Snarls and barks joined the growl of the waterfall as they closed the distance and pounced at the party. 

Everil rose to her feet and drew Elethea as one of them attacked her. She ducked, avoiding a sideways swipe, then swung, cutting through one of its arms. Another ran past her, heading for the other Warden. Alistair brought up his shield, blocking its claws before hitting it across the face with the edge. The wolf staggered backward and struck again, hitting air when he dodged. His blade then found the creature’s side, slashing it open. Morrigan and Wynne backed away as one of the werewolves darted around the Wardens, heading straight for them. Bjorn leaped between them and pounced, latching onto the monster’s neck.

The howls multiplied as more of them attacked, but this time a wave of arrows cut their path, taking out some in mid-sprint. Blood quickly stained the clear waters, flowing like red wine from the bodies now lying within. One of the surviving monsters turned to what was left of its friends, signaling a retreat and leaving their fallen behind.

Everil let out a breath, surveying the downed beasts with growing irritation. There was more to them than bloodlust in spite of what Zathrian had said and it was evident something was driving them to attack the elves. Had she found out what it was that caused them to hate them so much, perhaps they could have solved the problem much faster and in a peaceful way. Now they had to venture further into the woods and follow them to their lair, where they no doubt would attack the moment they set foot in it.

“Who fired the arrows?” Alistair asked from beside her, sheathing his blade.

“I have a pretty good idea who,” she uttered moodily, taking a step towards the woods. “Come out! I know you’re still out there!”

“Good senses, for a shem…” 

The same girl who greeted them outside of the Dalish camp emerged from the brush along with some of the men she commanded. She walked across the shallow waters, bow in hand and a scowl on her face. Everil stalked towards her, met her halfway, and roughly grabbed her by the front of her tunic. “Why are you here!”

She met her glare, unfazed and defiant. “You need not do any talking, Warden. Just do as our Keeper says. Those beasts killed some of my men and turned others into monsters. They deserve to die.”

Everil’s jaw tensed. They were missing half the story but she couldn’t fault her for wanting revenge for the deaths of her friends. Still, she would keep her from it a while longer—at least until they could find out what was happening. 

“No,” she said, shoving her away. The elf landed on her rear with a splash while her brethren promptly pointed their arrows at the Warden, angered by her transgression. 

"Watch it…" Alistair took a warning step, drawing his blade once more while Morrigan and Wynne also summoned flames to their hands.

Everil ignored the other elves, still staring her down. “Take your men and leave.” 

“These are my people dying!” Mithra retorted, her features twisted into bitter rage. “You are a fool if you believe you can stop me from avenging those I lost and protecting my camp!” 

“I don't intend on keeping you from protecting your people, but you are throwing yourselves at an enemy you cannot defeat alone!” Everil sighed and shook her head. “You now have Grey Wardens willing to lend you a hand in this. So you will be the foolish one if you don't step aside and let us handle things from here.”

For a moment, the elf glowered stubbornly at her, baring her gritted teeth. Then she glanced over her shoulder. “Stand down…” 

The men exchanged skeptical looks at her command, but slowly lowered their weapons.

"Good girl." Everil put away her blade. “Now, I would return to camp if I were you. You've caused me enough trouble as it is." With that, she and the others continued crossing over the pool without sparing them another glance.

Mithra’s hands closed tightly into fists as she stared after them, frustrated by her own failure.

"Mithra," One of the men walked up, leaning over to help her up. "Are you all right? Are you certain we should let them go?"

She let out a huff, running a hand through her soaked hair. “Yes… I just hope Keeper Zathrian is right about them…”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

A strange mist shrouded the temple, thick with moisture and magic. Roots and vines crawled over the rock, nearly making the ruins one with the forest. But despite the vegetation’s attempts at claiming it, the structure still stood regally, imposing its presence over the trees in a display of resilience against the passing of time. Everil admired it in subtle wonderment, along with Morrigan, who took a step next to her. “This is a Tevinter structure... look at the statues,” said the witch, pointing at one of them. “Yet it has some elven features... How odd.”

“It was probably altered with magic,” Everil replied and began approaching the building. “Shall we see what lies inside?”

“Besides a pack of angry wolves?” Alistair half-joked with a wry smile, following after her.

“Yes, besides that...” She pushed open the heavy doors, cautiously gazing inside. They entered a massive chamber, with columns of white stone and a once polished floor that still retained some of the luster. Crumbled statues littered the place, their limbs and heads scattered about. Three passages were connected to the hall, all leading in different directions. The one on the left was blocked by rubble, the one at the center led further into the temple, while the one on the right had a door slightly ajar. 

“I wonder if they’re really here...” Everil walked over to the right first. As she grew near and reached for the handle, the door slammed shut, the force echoing loudly around them. She was about to question who shut it when a low growl from within gave her the answer.

“Sounds like they are…” Alistair said.

With a sigh, she turned to her party and pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “That’s where we need to go so we have to find a way around.”

“This seems to be the only way.” Wynne motioned for the path at the center of the hall.

Nodding, Everil went towards it and entered first while the others trekked after her. They descended a steep slope, their footsteps echoing in the constricted space. Spider webs hung from the ceiling, white, sticky silk swaying with the nearly imperceptible breeze flowing from the crevices between the stones. The scent of dust, dirt, and moisture crowded their nostrils, making it slightly difficult to breathe. 

A bit of dirt fell from the ceiling above, landing on Alistair’s shoulder. He brushed it off. “Is it just me or does the roof over us look like it’s about to fall apart?”

“‘Tis an ancient structure overtaken by the forest… ‘Tis probably held together by magic alone, unlike that Grey Warden tower in the Wilds,” said Morrigan.

“Ugh…!” Everil frantically swatted at a web she'd walked into, the prospect of a spider crawling over her sending chills down her spine. “This is a nightmare!”

“Calm down...” Morrigan approached her, using slender fingers to brush the offending thing off her face. “At least ‘tis a common web. Giant spiders love abandoned places such as these. We are sure to eventually run into them, as well.”

Everil sighed, letting the witch pluck silk from her hair. “Thank you... Now I hate this place even more.” 

“Wait a minute...” Alistair stepped closer with a teasing grin. “Is our mighty leader afraid of spiders?”

She awkwardly avoided his stare, heat rising to her cheeks. “N-Not afraid... just… disgusted by them.” 

He chuckled, finding her uncharacteristic reaction utterly adorable.

A distant bang, like a hammer hitting rock, interrupted them, resonating from the way ahead. The group exchanged serious glances before they cautiously followed it, heading further down the passage. After they took a few tentative steps, another dull bang came from directly above them, halting them and prompting them to stand still. They gazed up as their surroundings shook, causing small rocks and dirt to trickle down from a new crack in the ceiling. 

Everil paled. “Ooh, no…”

Then another, much louder, bang rumbled over them and the same crack split the rock, stretching and growing. 

"Run!" she cried out, shoving Morrigan forward first, then Alistair and Wynne. They moved as fast as they could when the ceiling caved, crumbling behind them as they fought to outrun it. The passage split into a T and Morrigan and Alistair hurried to the left, while Wynne nearly tripped. Everil grabbed her and made a mad dash through the cloud of dust now blocking their view, dragging her with her while Bjorn followed after her. 

The deafening rumble of the collapse stopped and they coughed as the dust settled over them. One last stone bounced down the pile of rubble now blocking what remained of the passage, dropping all the way to the ground. A series of rough laughs followed from over them, growing quieter as the werewolves responsible retreated from their handy work.

With effort, Everil slowly pushed herself to her feet while Wynne tried to sit up beside her.

"Everil!" came Alistair's panicked voice, muffled by the rocks. “Are you guys all right!”

She gave Wynne a concerned look, at which the mage nodded in reassurance. Meanwhile, Bjorn sat and shook the dirt off his fur. 

"We're fine!" Everil yelled back, coughing lightly. "What about you and Morrigan?"

"We're fine but uh…” There was a pause. “I don't think we'll be able to get through here."

Morrigan's faint words followed his. "Thank you for stating the obvious, Alistair."

"Maker's breath... Of  _ all  _ the people I could have ended up with, it just  _ had _ to be you."

Everil rolled her eyes at the two and looked over her shoulder to see an open hallway behind them. She returned her gaze to the rubble. "We have another path we can follow. Do the two of you have a way out on your end?" 

There was another pause. 

"Yes, I see one," Alistair called out. 

"Good!” she breathed in relief. “Let's hope we can meet at the other end. Work together and try not to kill each other, all right?"

"I promise nothing,” she heard Morrigan say, picturing the smirk on her face.

"All right. I will see you on the other side," she turned to leave.

“Everil?”

“Yes?” She stopped, eyes reverting to the rocks upon hearing his voice.

“Be careful in there.”

Her lips curled into a smile. "You too."

And Everil kept walking, leading the mage and hound down their only way out.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Alistair shook his head with a sigh and turned away from the cave-in before stepping past Morrigan, heading for the open door at the end of the hall. The witch went after him, staff in hand. Both crossed through the doorway and entered another long corridor, lit only by some dimming torches.

“Do you think the bastards know we're alive?" he asked quietly, ears alert for any sound other than their own footsteps.

She nodded. "They appear to be relatively intelligent, so 'tis likely they would have placed men at the exits.”

“Heh… Yes, that sounds about right."

They continued on in awkward silence, with Alistair a short distance in front of her as Morrigan stared ahead with disinterest. The narrow path eventually opened up into a small room. A sort of sitting area, with old wooden benches and a broken statue at the center. A pair of doors came into view across from them and he approached them. He attempted to open them but they wouldn't budge. “Great… They’re locked," he muttered irritably, finding no other way through. “Now what?”

"Step aside."

Alistair turned to her just as she hurled a fiery ball his way. He jumped out of the way with a yelp, the fire narrowly missing him. "Damn it, Morrigan!" He shot her a glare. "You almost burned me!"

“Oh, quit your whining, fool. 'Tis open now,” she retorted with a dirty look of her own.

He faced the door, watching as the wood around the lock crumbled to the ground along with it. Grumbling something about rotten luck and evil witches, Alistair drew his blade and proceeded to kick open what was left of it. Only to find himself in the sights of a ballista a few yards ahead and a werewolf ready to fire. It snapped, hurling a projectile straight for them. He reacted with no time to think, whirling about and tackling Morrigan to the ground. The spear flew mere inches over them, nearly hitting them both as they fell, but instead impaling the wall behind them.

Shock fell over her as she found herself pinned beneath his body. And at that moment, as she lay with his arms around her, Morrigan realized just how muscular he was. She heard him huff by her ear and felt him shift when he lifted his head to look at her. Their gazes met, and the skip in her heart it caused snapped her back to reality, sending her into a frantic panic. "Get off of me!" she yelled, shoving him and kneeing him.

"Ow!" Alistair moved away, rubbing his aching side. “I just saved your life and yet you hit me?”

Yellow eyes narrowed dangerously. “I should turn you into a pile of burning coals!”

Another snap was heard, prompting them to look at the ballista just as another spear flew towards them. They both went prone, covering their heads as it cut the air over them, shattering against the statue in the room.

“Wait, stop!” Alistair called to the werewolf, sitting up to glare at it. “We’re not here to fight, we just want to talk!”

It ignored him as it roared, then promptly loaded another shot and fired, forcing both Warden and mage to hit the ground once more. "Agh, that’s it!" Alistair grunted, quickly pushing himself to his feet. “I'm killing the bastard!” 

He ran out of the room and to a large chamber lined with broken weapons, heading straight for the creature before it could reload. Seeing this, it rushed towards him, pouncing with claws extended. 

Alistair blocked with his shield and then hit him with it, throwing him off balance before stabbing through its stomach. It growled, gripping his sword as its eyes bore into his. And then it threw its head back and howled, summoning a series of barks and roars that made him gaze up to the second level of the chamber.

“Damn it…” His jaw tensed upon seeing more of them pour in from above. He withdrew his blade from the monster's gut and slashed across its chest, sending it to the ground. He spun about, ready to engage the incoming wave of enemies when suddenly his sword was set aflame, brightening the hall like a torch. Alistair's gaze went to Morrigan, who was now lowering her hand. He gave her a grateful nod before rushing in to engage their new opponents.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Bjorn sniffed the ground ahead of the two women as they trekked through the narrow path. More cobwebs of different sizes covered every corner, making Everil increasingly nervous, something she was trying to hide behind a look of pure determination. The older woman next to her seemed calm however, carefully scanning their surroundings. 

They certainly hadn't talked much since Redcliffe, too busy running around for conversation. That and Wynne usually went to sleep as soon as her tent was up, seemingly too tired to stay up with the rest of them. She had to give the old mage credit, for despite her obviously worn appearance she had yet to complain once within their travels.

“Do you need to rest?" Everil asked worriedly.

“No, I'm quite all right." Wynne gave her a sad smile. "You know... You did not have to help me back there."

She grinned. "Well I couldn't just let the roof fall on you, now could I?"

"I am an old woman... you could have left me and saved yourself. Then you would not be in this predicament."

"You offered to help me with the Blight. The least I can do is keep my word to your First Enchanter and make sure you remain in one piece."

Wynne let out a breath, eyes downcast. "I probably shouldn't have offered. I am doing nothing but holding you back." 

"Oh, come now. Do you honestly think I would've brought you along if I thought you a burden? You're powerful and experienced, while the rest of us are all youngsters trying to save the world.” She chuckled. “Well.. except for Sten. I don't even know how old he is." That earned her a light laugh from the mage and Everil smiled at her. "I’m glad you’re here with us. We need someone like you to keep us grounded." 

"You are too kind. Though I must say you seem to have a good grasp on things without my help."

"I try... Which is all I can do," Everil replied with a heavy sigh. She wasn't one to show her troubles to others, but somehow the old woman's warm presence made it easier to speak of her uncertainties.

"And that is enough, obviously. Not many could have picked up this mantle you carry and continue fighting as you have. I knew the Cousland name carried a great deal of weight in Ferelden, but now I can truly see why,” Wynne said firmly, drawing a surprised look from her. "Your family must be quite proud."

"Thanks…" she whispered, sadness crossing over her eyes. Yes, she knew much was riding on her making the right choices and following the correct paths. In fact, the more they learned of Ferelden's situation, the more pressure she felt. But what she said truly helped her realize that perhaps that's how it was meant to be. That she may have been destined to be the one bearing the burden because no one else would in her place.

A brief silence fell over them, then Wynne spoke again, a bit more hesitant. "There is a matter I've been meaning to ask you about… if you will forgive my bluntness."

“Go on.”

"What is the relationship between you and Alistair?"

The Warden sent her a bewildered look at the question. The others were yet to ask her something this personal, about a matter she figured didn't need an explanation. Wynne, however, seemed genuinely concerned as she waited patiently for a response. Everil’s brow furrowed as she attempted to pick the right thing to say. "He and I… We have been through a lot together. He's very important to me."

"You are a Grey Warden and he is the son of a king. Any romantic involvement between you two is destined for hardship. For the sake of humanity, Grey Wardens must remain committed to their cause, to do anything and everything to ensure victory—this to the point of personal sacrifice. As our leader, you may eventually be forced to make those types of decisions.” 

"I… Uhm… I think you're making things sound worse than they really are,” she stammered awkwardly.

“You should see the way the boy looks at you when he thinks no one is looking... It's almost too sweet for my taste. I would hate to see him suffer when such time comes.”

For a few seconds, Everil stared at her feet, unsure of how to respond. She may be right. But now that she put more thought into it, knowing that their time together may be fleeting actually made her want to be with him even more. To enjoy their present to the fullest when either of them could perish at any given moment. “I appreciate your concern for him... and for me. But Alistair isn’t a child, and neither am I,” she said, offering her a half-smile. “Know that I will not shirk away from my duties as a Grey Warden and that I will take your words into consideration should my relationship with him get in the way of our mission… but our relationship is ultimately our business, and no one else’s.” 

The mage released a soft breath of defeat. “I have given my advice. Do with it what you will.”

Bjorn whined, looking ahead into the dark corridor and drawing their attention. During their talk, they hadn't noticed they neared a part of the passage connecting to a room that was shrouded in pitch-black darkness.

Everil drew her sword, warily stepping closer to her hound. “What is it, boy? Is something in there?”

He snarled and growled in response, baring his fangs at the black wall before them. 

She glanced at Wynne. "Can you cast a fire spell for light?"

"Of course." Wynne flicked her wrist, drawing a flame around her hand. She approached the young woman, standing beside her and lifting her arm. The small fire illuminated the chamber, revealing massive spider webs covering the room, while bundled objects hung from the ceiling or clung to the walls. A screech pierced through the silence as heavy, rhythmic thumps came from the shadows where Wynne's light could not reach, growing louder. Closer.

"That doesn't sound good..." Everil muttered, taking in the webs covering every inch of the ceiling while recalling Morrigan's earlier words. She gulped and took a tentative step just as something began to slowly emerge from the dark.

Eight eyes stared back at her, mounted on a head connected to a large body, a pulsating abdomen, and eight thick legs. Everil felt her pulse quicken, fear gripping her as two more spiders crawled from behind the first. And despite the many nightmares she endured each night since the Joining, this was the worst one yet.

The first charged, moving at a speed she didn't think possible for a creature its size. Refusing to freeze in fear, Everil willed herself forward, slashing at it as it tried to tackle her. She felt her sword crack its exoskeleton, a white goo splashing out before it fell back and squirmed. 

“Ugh...!" She shuddered, utterly revolted by the substance now covering her body. But she didn't have time to recover as another one came from her left, attempting to blindside her. Bjorn tackled it head first, flipping it on its back. He jumped on it and bit at its abdomen, chomping away pieces as the creature released a screech. 

Everil looked away from him with a groan, forcing down the vile threatening to rise up at the scene. She swallowed thick and clenched her jaw.  _ Blast it! Get it together! _ Her hold on her weapons tightened and she steeled her resolve, feeding off every ounce of courage she could muster. Another spider came and she ran to it, releasing a battle cry and swinging to slash at its legs. She then spun and brought her sword down on its head, piercing through to the ground.

Behind her, Wynne cast a spell, sending flames across the web and setting three of the creatures on fire. She then unleashed more magic, setting more of them ablaze while a cacophony of high-pitched cries pierced their ears. As the fire spread and lit up the room, the creatures set their sights on the mage, seeing she was the one doing the most damage while also standing defenseless. 

Everil glanced up, watching them scurry past her from above, heading for their new target. Cursing under her breath, she whirled around and ran, ignoring the ones still chasing after her. “Wynne!” she called and shoved her to the ground just as the spiders dropped over them. One landed on her and she fell on her back with a grunt, its weight pinning her down. 

A mass of legs surrounded her in seconds when the other arachnids came, crowding her vision. “Damn it!” she screamed, dodging venomous fangs that pierced through the rock floor by her head. Barks and growls could be heard as her hound tried to reach her, biting his way through.

_ Need to get up, need to get up!  _ was the mantra in her head as she slashed at one that tried to steal her away from her current captor.

Growing impatient with her squirms and with its kin, the spider atop her brought clawed legs down upon her. Everil frantically avoided most by the skin of her teeth, yet one managed to hit its mark. A single, razor-sharp claw stabbed through her armor, carving a deep hole under her collarbone. Crying out a curse, Everil found the clarity in her panic to thrust her dagger upwards, stabbing through the creature’s upper section. It screeched in agony and tried to bring its legs down again, but was set aflame from behind by Wynne. Everil kicked up with both legs, pushing it off her as she rolled out of the way of its heavy body. 

Covering her wound as she knelt on one knee, Everil panted for breath and gazed at the burning bodies of the remaining spiders. All were now dead or dying, shriveling up as their cries slowly died out. Bjorn ran to her, whining upon smelling her blood.

Wynne worriedly did the same, kneeling before her. "Andraste’s mercy, are you all right?"

“Oh…” Wincing, Everil lowered her hand and eyed the deep red stain spreading over her gambeson. “Oh, blast it…”

“That was a foolish thing you did,” Wynne reprimanded her sternly before proceeding to inspect her with a subtle frown. “Jumping into danger like that for my sake again... I could have handled them with a simple spell, yet here you are.”

"Sorry…" The Warden let out a weak chuckle. “It’s but a flesh wound though…"

“Yes, fortunately for you, young lady, it's not as serious as it appears. But it will keep bleeding and may become infected if we don’t do something about it now... Here, just hold still," the mage instructed before closing her eyes and bringing a hand to her wound. A bright, white light began to glow from her fingers, spreading to cover the injury. It began to mend, the muscle and flesh pulling together and becoming whole again.

Everil stared in wonder at the beauty of her magic, feeling its warmth as the affected area tingled like fresh mint against her skin.

Once done, Wynne lowered her hand with a small smile. "There. It shouldn't bother you anymore."

"Thank you…" Everil rotated her arm and found herself impressed by how quickly she’d healed her. "You have quite the gift, Wynne…”

"Yes, well... I have been doing this for a long time." She put on a gentle smile as she helped her to her feet.

“You will certainly be of great help when the time comes for us to face the darkspawn horde again.”

"That is my hope… But considering what just happened, here is my word of caution…” She raised an index finger as if speaking to one of her students. “Conventional white magic can only heal so much damage. Mending major trauma such as broken bones and torn organs is quite difficult and it is dependent on the mage’s available mana. Magic also cannot fix severe blood loss, exposure or cure certain types of poison—so you should not think yourself invincible simply because I am here."

“Ah, right… If magic could solve everything, Arl Eamon wouldn’t need a fabled Urn...” Everil put on a playful smirk. “And I suppose that also means that attempting to defeat an ogre with my bare hands is out of the question.”

Wynne laughed lightly at her jest. “Yes... It very much is.”

“All right then…” Everil motioned to the wide arch on the other side of the chamber, where stairs lead up to another door. "Shall we go? The sooner we get out of here, the better."

"Yes. I agree." 

The two of them headed for the steps and began to climb, followed by her hound. As they reached the door at the top, vicious growls and yelps could be heard coming from the other side. Whatever was happening, it was clear the werewolves were angry at something or someone. Everil gazed at Wynne from the top of the stairs while the mage responded with a confident nod.

Sword in hand once more, Everil opened the door and they quickly made their way through. They crossed the next short hallway on the second floor, the howls growing louder with every running step. They emerged from another arch and into a large room filled with white pillars, old weaponry, and more broken statues. 

She looked to the floor below to see Alistair fighting several werewolves with a flaming sword, while Morrigan provided support by setting some of them aflame or electrocuting them. Seeing they were almost overwhelmed, Everil put away her blade and drew her bow before pulling an arrow in one swift move.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Alistair grunted as he buried his blade into a beast's chest, drawing its pain-filled howl as the flames spread over its body. Wasting no time, he pulled back and prepared to engage the next as it came running at him on all fours. It was about to jump when an arrow hit the side of its head, dropping it with a yelp. Both he and Morrigan gazed up to see the other Warden take aim again and fire, hitting another feral creature in the neck as it tried to charge at them from behind. 

The werewolves growled upon seeing her arrive, finding themselves flanked. And they scrambled to retreat, climbing up the wall and disappearing behind the wide crack from whence they came. Howls and yelps echoed as they dissipated the further they fled and the room soon fell silent.

“I see you two managed to work together!” Everil called out with a chuckle, her voice echoing towards them.

“You could say that!” Alistair shouted back before turning to Morrigan, waving his still flaming weapon. “Could you…?”

She scowled and grumpily waved her staff, dispelling the magic. 

“Thank you~” he chimed, sheathing his blade before they both went to reunite with their companions.

Everil hopped from a broken set of stairs while Bjorn also jumped to the floor below. Then she reached up to Wynne, holding her hand as she began to climb down. Once the mage was safely on her feet, she faced the other Warden, who promptly took notice of the blood on her armor.

“What’s that?” he asked worriedly, pointing to it. "What happened?"

She followed his line of vision. “Oh, it's nothing.”

Wynne smiled up at him from behind her. “She’s fine, son. I took care of it.”

“Ah, good…” he sighed, glancing past her at the mage before his stern gaze met Everil’s once more. “That still doesn’t answer my question, however.” 

She shrugged. "We ran into those disgusting spiders Morrigan mentioned and a handful of them took me by surprise."

"While she was foolheartedly trying to protect dear old me from something I could have handled myself," Wynne interjected, hands at her hips. "She is quite brash and careless."

"So you've not learned your lesson from that little skirmish with the possessed child, after all,” Morrigan chimed in smugly from a few steps nearby. “Jumping in to save others with little regard for your own well being. Foolish.”

Everil pursed her lips at the women. “I’m not  _ that  _ bad…” 

“You've got to be more careful…” Alistair chastised gently, crossing his arms. “What if Wynne hadn’t been there to heal you?”

“I know...” she huffed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re right… I’ll be more careful from now on.”

“Promise?”

“I promise…”

His gaze softened. “Good.” 

Wynne watched the exchange with interest, smiling a little. 

“So now what?” Alistair relaxed his arms with a lopsided grin. “Shall we go kick some tails? Which way should we go?”

Everil searched the area with her eyes, spotting the double doors at the far end of the room. “I guess it would be this way,” she replied, leading the group towards them. They crossed the chamber and she pushed the gates open, revealing another passage that stretched out before them.


	6. The Lady of the Forest

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ A _ _ fter a few hours of traveling through  _ the ruins, the group finally arrived at another wide room. But instead of more darkness, they were greeted by breathtaking beauty. Warm sunlight filtered through a wide crack on the roof, bathing the lush greens of the vegetation climbing up the walls. Shimmering water trickled down the stone from a stream above, pooling around a platform surrounded by colorful flowering plants. Butterflies fluttered happily from blossom to blossom, adding to the magical appearance of what seemed to be a small piece of paradise in an otherwise dangerous place.

A white wolf sat at the center, its blue eyes watching Everil's every move as she and the others carefully crossed the room towards it. It spoke in a female voice, the words echoing in their minds.  _ "Welcome to my realm, mortals.” _

"Are you Witherfang?" Everil asked tentatively as they came to stand before it.

_ "I am...” _ It narrowed its eyes.  _ “And I hear you are here to kill me." _

A series of low growls made them look towards a shaded area from which glowing eyes stared. Her party reached for their weapons as Bjorn snarled back at them, standing protectively by his mistress. Everil raised her hand to halt them, her attention never leaving the wolf’s menacing glare. "No… I only wish to talk."

_ "You have murdered many of my children. Why should I believe anything you say?" _

"We were forced to defend ourselves because they attacked us first,” Everil countered calmly. “Now please, I want to avoid further bloodshed. If there is more to Zathrian's story, I wish to hear it."

A pause followed, stretching for a few lagging seconds. Then the wolf rose and slowly, cautiously, began to approach her, moving gracefully as it made its way to her. The wolf's body began to glow, bright and warm, as it morphed and took the shape of a woman. And she was gorgeous. Jet-black hair flowed down to cover her exposed breasts, framing an almond-shaped face as her ashen skin shone under the light. Full lips were pursed as black eyes, as dark and unnerving as an empty void were set upon her.

“My lady, no!” one of the werewolves roared, rushing towards the center, but halted when the woman looked his way.

“Swiftrunner..." she warned him as a mother would her child.

He snarled at the Warden, but followed her command as she stepped closer to her. Everil remained still as Witherfang reached up to cup her cheeks and stared into her sky blue pools, searching for something deep within. Her companions shifted uncomfortably behind her but kept their hands off of their weapons.

“You speak the truth," she stated, a small smile spreading over her mystical features. She lowered her hands and took a step back, gesturing for the werewolves to stand down. “You must forgive my children. They have suffered much and are slow to trust.”

“Understandable… given the circumstances.” Everil's brow creased quizzically. “What happened between you and the Dalish?” 

“It is… a tragic story.” Witherfang shook her head sadly, taking a deep breath. “Hundreds of years ago... in this very forest... a group of human settlers tortured and killed Zathrian’s son, then raped his young daughter **.** The girl survived, but eventually found she was with child. She took her own life… having found herself unable to live with the shame." 

“That's… horrible,” Everil said quietly.

“Yes…” the woman agreed, gazing to the ground. "And it would be a sin they would ultimately come to regret many times over… For Zathrian, overwhelmed by grief and hatred, sought the help of a spirit from the Fade and used its powers to punish their entire settlement. Cursing them to wander the woods as beasts.”

Everil looked around the room to the werewolves slowly emerging from the shadows, seeing them hold their heads low as they regarded the Lady with reverence. “You're that spirit Zathrian summoned… aren’t you?”

"I am… though my children call me the Lady of the Forest," she answered softly, clasping her hands together. “I have... tried to keep more innocents from falling prey to my power. But as you have seen, this curse spreads as a disease would. Any innocent traveler entering the woods will be affected if attacked by those afflicted by it."

“The curse is constant torture,” Swiftrunner spoke, his voice a raspy growl. “The pain is unbearable… It burns through you, driving you mad. The only way to appease it is to release that pain upon others, further spreading the disease. If it weren’t for our Lady we would be nothing but savage animals, seeking to kill anything in our path.”

“I see…” Everil folded her arms. “If Zathrian knows about this, then why has he not stopped it? Why has he allowed it to fall upon his own people?”

“He has to die for the curse to be lifted. That’s why,” Swiftrunned bit out, flexing his claws.

The Warden's head spun to her. “Is this true?”

"Yes. The curse is tied to his life-force. As long as it exists, so will he. But I do not believe that his unwillingness to let go of his own existence is the only reason he has done nothing to stop it. His hatred for those who wronged him runs deep, and he has lived with it for centuries. I imagine it has become part of who he is now." 

“Is this why you have been attacking his people? To force him into lifting it?”

“In part..." Lady replied with a subtle scowl. "We have tried to approach Zathrian every time the Dalish returned to the forest… To reason with him and beg him to lift the curse. But each time, we were ignored.” Her gaze darkened with contempt. “We shall no longer be denied."

Everil’s lips pressed into a line, anger quickly rising at the Keeper’s selfishness and lies. She couldn’t let this stand. Not when there were so many being hurt and killed by one man’s insatiable desire for vengeance. “What do you need us to do? There has to be something that can stop all this.”

The Lady's eyes widened a fraction at her selfless response, then a small smile spread over her lips. “Perhaps… If you bring him to me, I can convince him to finally cast us free **.”**

“There is no need for you to seek me out, Warden.” 

They all turned towards the source of the voice as Zathrian stepped into the chamber, a wicked smirk over his aging face. “Mithra told me of your intentions to talk to the creatures. I knew then that you would learn the truth behind the curse and that nothing I said would convince you to follow through with the initial plan… So I planned to take matters into my own hands and take the wolf’s heart myself..”

“How did you find us!” Swiftrunner roared at him. 

“The spirit and I share a connection. Of course I could find my way to her. I couldn’t come near her with you standing guard, however.” He let out a weak chuckle. “So as luck may have it, the Grey Wardens served as a good distraction to allow me into your lair.”

Alistair glared angrily at him. “Bastard… You were using us all along.”

“What do you want, Zathrian?” Everil demanded, hands closed into a fist as she glowered at the mage. “Do you intend to kill Witherfang and let this horrible disease continue?”

His gaze fell to his feet. "I..."

"Zathrian..." The Lady took a careful step towards him, pleading to him. "Please, they don't deserve this fate. Those who wronged you are long dead, and now others are suffering. You have lived a long life. Let them live theirs."

"No!" Zathrian's cry resonated through the wide chamber. "Did the humans have mercy on my children? I merely made their bodies become reflections of their beastly souls! I won't let this end... Their descendants will pay just as well for what they did!"

"Fool..." Morrigan said in disgust.

“You must reconsider…” Wynne added with a disapproving look. “Such a long-lived desire for revenge is not good for anyone. Find it in your heart to forgive them and move on from this realm.”

"Never!" Magic surged from him as he summoned more spirits of the forest. Beings of light flowed from his staff, crossing over to their realm and laying claim to the trees growing beside him. Their wood creaked as they came to life, roaring as if awakening from an ancient slumber. They separated themselves from the stone that bound them, sending rubble crumbling around them and smashing onto the ground.

Drawing her sword, Everil stepped in front of the Lady, eyes over their new opponent. "You and your people stay back. We will handle this."

Unsure and without options, the spirit nodded and quickly transformed back into a wolf. A bright light shone from her, wrapping her and those around her in a protective barrier. “Be careful, Warden. Zathrian’s magic is not gentle,” she warned mournfully.

“Well… neither is ours,” she replied, looking towards Morrigan and Wynne as the two prepared themselves to fight.

"You will pay dearly for getting in my way, Grey Warden," Zathrian’s booming voice made the ground shake as his power grew, as ancient as himself.

“We shall see about that!” she bit back as Bjorn and Alistair stood beside her. 

With a roar and a wave of his staff, the mage commanded the trees to attack. The beings followed his orders, their steps sluggish and heavy as they stomped the floor. Long branches swung towards them, fast and powerful, cutting through the air.

Moving on swift feet, Everil dodged one of them, letting it crack the ground beside her. She slashed at it, cutting off several branches that had turned into makeshift fingers. The tree let out a muffled groan, withdrawing its arm as the limbs magically sprouted back. Roots shot out from its feet, breaking through rock and stone and slithering over it as they sought to trap her and her party. The others ran out of the way, barely avoiding being grabbed.

Morrigan and Wynne cast a wave of flames, setting the fast-moving roots ablaze. They easily burned to ashes, then Wynne brought forth another spell, igniting one of the creature’s legs. It groaned in pain as it angrily beat the ground like a drum, sending debris shooting out and nearly squashing Bjorn under its branches. With a scowl, the witch followed suit, unleashing another storm of fire upon the second sentient tree. A deep howl resonated from it as it stomped, trying to flatten Alistair, who swung his blade at its leg. 

A shimmering light erupted from Zathrian, spreading outwards towards his trees and engulfing them with its magic. The flames were extinguished and limbs grew back in seconds, returning them to their full force once more.

"Damn it!" Alistair rolled out of the way of another branch and retreated several steps, joined by the hound and his mistress.

"We can't kill them with him healing them like that," Everil said as she quickly observed their battlefield. The trees were protecting him, using their roots and long limbs to fight them instead. They had to stop him, but getting through to him would be difficult. An idea occurred to her. "Morrigan and Wynne!" she called to them, drawing their attention. “On my signal, I want you both to cast another wave of flames upon those trees. Make them angry!”

The two responded with confident nods, then Everil turned to Alistair and her hound. "I need to get to Zathrian!”

"I’ll take the one to the right and Bjorn can take the other!” Alistair declared firmly. “We’ll keep their branches off of you while you go for the mage!”

"All right!" Everil prepared her weapons. "Wynne, Morrigan, now!"

The mages summoned their power, hitting the trees head-on and splintering their bodies through sheer force. Alistair and Bjorn charged, with Everil following closely from behind. The trees attempted to protect their master, growling loudly as the spells hit their bodies. They blindly brought down long limbs, trying to sweep at them, but missing entirely.

Alistair raised his sword and slashed upwards, cutting off their fingers before slicing off another branch. Bjorn latched on to the other's arm, biting off chunks as Everil ran between them, dodging the tree roots breaking up from the ground and trying to trap her. She closed in on Zathrian with a battle cry, catching the mage off guard. He blocked with his staff, nearly getting knocked off his feet when their weapons met.

"This is not your battle, Warden! Leave now!" Zathrian grunted, parrying her off to shoot a ball of electricity at her. She leaned sideways and avoided it, then struck again, her dagger cutting into his staff.

"No!” she defied him as her sword connected once more. “You let this happen to your people—over a centuries-old grudge! Their suffering and their pain is  _ your  _ doing! They don’t deserve this, and so I am making it my fight to end this curse!” Her angry retort echoed through the chamber as she attacked him again and again, forcing the elf back with each hit he scrambled to block.

As if forced awake by her valiant words, Zathrian stumbled and gasped, horror dawning on his aging face as if he’d seen the truth for the first time. And she took the opportunity, kicking his midsection and knocking him onto his back on a pile of rocks and weeds. Then she grabbed him by the front of his robes, pressed Elethea to his neck, and hissed, "Dispel the trees... Now!"

He gulped and silently stared up at her, a bead of sweat rolling down his brow. A breath left him and the trees stopped moving, freezing in place. The mage’s hatred and rage melted into nothingness, revealing just how exhausted he truly was. How a man consumed by grief and the need for revenge truly looked—with bags under his eyes and a lifeless stare.

“Please…” the elf whimpered through heavy breaths. "I... I can't take this anymore."

"Then undo the curse!" Everil commanded sharply, her chilled stare penetrating his. “If not for yourself, then for those who follow you. Those you claim to care about!”

“Yes…” Zathrian let out a long, drawn-out breath, guilt and grief twisting his face as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. "I... I have endured for so long… And in so doing, I have hurt so many. You are right… Enough is enough..."

Slowly, she lowered her weapon and rose to her feet, allowing him to stand. Whitherfang returned to her humanoid form, an expectant look in her eyes. "Does that mean… Does that mean that you will put a stop to this at last?"

Tired and defeated, the old mage nodded weakly, his shoulders slouching as if the weight of it all were too great. "I... I am ready… spirit." He then turned to Everil with remorse. "Forgive me for putting you through all this, Warden. Talk to my successor when this is over... She will lend you the aid you seek against the Blight. Thank you for risking so much for my people."

Everil simply gave him a silent nod.

The Lady extended her hand, taking his wrinkled fingers before guiding him to the center of the chamber. They stood before each other, hands linked with one another’s.

"My lady...!" Swiftrunner took a step towards her, a pained expression over his canine features. 

“Do not mourn me…” she said softly to her children. “Simply remember me... and take care of each other. Find peace." She smiled as her body began to glow. “Goodbye... everyone.” With one final gasp, Zathrian collapsed and the once beautiful spirit of the forest slowly vanished into the air like a whisper.

The Grey Wardens and their party watched in amazement as the werewolves were freed from their curse, their bodies morphing into something else. Fur faded from their skin, and fangs and snouts shrank as claws retracted into fingers. Their size shrank and soon men and women were now where monsters once stood. 

They cried with joy, some reaching for their lovers and cupping their faces upon finally being able to see their real forms. Some had pointed ears, others human features. In the end, people from different origins now shared the happiness of rebirth together.

Smiling widely, Everil turned to her companions and tilted her head to the open door leading to the outside. There was nothing left for them to do here. All that remained was to report back to the Dalish camp and deliver the bittersweet news.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

"Here you go. Just like new!" The elven woman handed her the repaired gambeson, a proud grin on her face.

Everil took it gratefully, eyeing her Grey Warden armor with a pleased grin. The tear was repaired and all traces of blood washed off, bringing the fabric back to its original blue. She handed the smithy a few silvers and said her thanks.

The sun had already set by the time they were done speaking with the new Keeper. So they’d decided it would be best to spend the night with the elves and restock on supplies before heading back out again. And their hosts were more than eager to welcome their saviors with open arms after having earned their trust.

“Oh!” 

A gasp drew her gaze to Leliana, who stood by the Aravel next to the one from which she’d retrieved her armor. She was currently staring in wonder at a necklace made out of weaved thread and polished river stones. While the elf who made it watched her curiously from behind the counter. 

Everil approached the nun. "I think that would look good on you.”

“Thank you.” She turned to her, taking the necklace and placing it against the Warden's chest. "But I was actually thinking it would look good with that dress you're wearing.”

She smiled helplessly as Leliana matched the item to her clothes. She had been forced to change into a simple, white wool dress while her armor was being repaired—an outfit also handpicked by Leliana herself. It wasn’t as fine and conservative as the clothes she wore in Highever. It was a peasant’s dress, with a wide cut that revealed much of her chest and shoulders. 

"Here just wear it." Leliana slid the necklace over her head.

Everil glanced at it. "You know I have to change back into my armor, right?” 

"But you look so beautiful like this..." She chuckled and put on a mischievous grin. "Imagine Alistair's face when he sees you." 

“Uhm…” The light of the torch next to her easily revealed her blush. "Do you really think he would like it?"

"Of course he would…” She smirked teasingly. “He may even pounce on you like one of those wolves." 

A soft, bashful laugh escaped her. “Oh, don’t be silly...”

They paid for the necklace and made their way up the hill, heading for a large bonfire now burning at the center of the Dalish camp. The distant sound of elven music drifted to them, accompanied by laughter and cheers. Gone was the previous depressing atmosphere, replaced by merriment as the elves celebrated the end of their torment.

"That outfit suits you too. You have good taste," Everil complemented the redhead, admiring the soft lilac of her dress.

"Well, thank you. I lived around some fashionable ladies back in Orlais. I’m glad I could use a bit of that on you tonight.” Leliana winked, then giggled, clasping both hands behind her back as they walked. “You know, I thought about going shopping with you before, but I never imagined it would happen in a Dalish camp. I suppose they have to trade with humans from time to time."

"I don't know if this would be considered shopping… but it was fun, nonetheless.”

“We can always try going to Denerim someday… Once this is all over,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. "It’s a shame I could not convince Morrigan to come with us... She seems so obsessed with that book she carries around with her."

"Yes…” Everil released a soft breath. “I hope she finds whatever she’s looking for in it.”

“Are you sure? That grimoire belongs to the dreaded Witch of the Wilds... It doesn’t scare you to know that Morrigan might just find some dangerous, powerful magic hidden within those pages?”

The thought did give Everil pause, but she tried her best to brush it aside, choosing instead to trust the witch. “So long as it’s used against the darkspawn and not us, I think I can sleep well enough at night.”

“I suppose you have a point there…” Leliana bit her lip. She didn’t dislike mages like the rest of the Chantry sisters did, but that didn’t mean she trusted all of them. Morrigan was an unknown, she presumed even to the Wardens. But if she’d somehow earned Everil’s trust, then perhaps she deserved the benefit of the doubt.

After their brief walk, they approached Everil’s tent, where she put away her armor. It had been a while since she last wore anything other than the Grey Warden uniform, so she might as well enjoy the moment. Leliana gave her a satisfied smile upon seeing she had opted to keep her current attire, and they continued on towards the party. 

Everyone was gathered there, including their companions. Musicians played flutes and a lute in a cheerful, yet archaic melody that melded with their natural surroundings. Some elves danced, while others merely sat by the fire, eating fruits and drinking wine as they chatted and made their toasts. 

Zevran drank and laughed in a corner, sitting cross-legged on the ground while flirting with two girls. Sten and Bjorn sat next to each other, staring into the flames as the qunari absently petted the dog. Morrigan was resting against a tree, reading her book away from the crowd but just close enough to the light of the fire. Wynne spoke cheerfully with the elder elves of the camp, standing in a group as they adorned her snowy white hair with flowers. 

Everil looked around the area for the last party member, spotting him some distance away. He sat on a fallen tree trunk with elbows on his knees, watching the flickering flames in silent contemplation. And for the first time in years, she felt hesitant to approach a man. Afraid of what he would say upon seeing her. 

Someone gently pushed her forward. 

“Go," Leliana encouraged with a grin.

“Uhm… right.” Everil’s voice sounded unsure, causing her to inwardly berate herself over her foolishness. She sauntered towards him while the nun watched with a gentle smile.

Alistair didn’t seem to notice her at first, too engrossed by whatever was in his mind. She carefully stepped closer. “A coin for your thoughts?”

Her voice brought him back to reality and he blinked upon seeing the white dress instead of the blue and silver he’d expected. Curious amber eyes traveled upwards over her, taking in hills and valleys no longer hidden behind the thick gambeson of her armor. This new fabric hugged every curve, accentuating wide hips and perfectly rounded breasts, while at the same time robbing him of breath.

Everil watched him almost expectantly, seeing him swallow hard before sitting up.

“Maker…” he croaked and then cleared his throat, red tinting his cheeks. “Uhm… You… You look beautiful...”

“Thank you…” she breathed out, gripping her skirts in slight nervousness. She then carefully took a seat next to him, their arms touching. They remained very still for a moment, with Alistair still stealing glances at her as the silence stretched for what felt like hours. She nibbled on her bottom lip, then gave him a concerned look. “Are you all right?”

His stare had wandered to her chest, the wide off-shoulder cut of the dress allowing him to see some of her cleavage.

“Alistair?”

“Huh…?”

She chuckled softly. “I asked you if you were all right as you keep spacing out, but you're obviously feeling well enough to shamelessly gawk at my breasts.”

“Oh…!” He slammed his mouth shut and tore his eyes away. “Uh, s-sorry... I’m fine. I was… just thinking."

“I saw that… What were you thinking about?”

He released a drawn-out breath and shook his head, clasping his hands together. “About all the people dying out there. Villages… towns are being raided and burned by the darkspawn… While we were here, wasting valuable time running around in some elven ruins.”

A look of understanding fell over her, knowing full well what he was feeling. And her eyes went to the elves dancing happily in a circle a short distance from them. “I don't think it was a waste of time… We ended up helping these people and gained another ally against the Blight in the process. We did what we had to do."

“I know… But if he’d just been honest with us from the beginning…”

"Yes… I agree. But we can only save those we can with what we know," Everil murmured, watching the twisting flames as the Dalish continued to frolic around it. “All we can do now is hope that the people of Ferelden will endure long enough for us to do what must be done. We have to keep fighting so that those who don’t make it won’t die in vain."

"Yes… You’re right, of course.” But Alistair still didn’t feel much better. His eyes then went up to her again, the light this time allowing him to see the scar that now marred her chest. “How’s your arm…? That looks like it was more serious than you said it was.” 

Everil glanced at the mark. “I hadn’t noticed it actually… too dark in the smithy’s shop and my tent.” She put on a smile, trying to play off her discomfort. “It’s fine... Just another scar to add to my growing collection, I suppose.”

“Well, in my humble opinion…” He leaned in, whispering in her ear, “You’re ravishing with or without those beautiful scars…”

A shiver ran up her spine, his warm breath leaving a tingling sensation on her skin. “Thank you, Alistair…”

He tenderly kissed her cheek, causing a skip in her heart. “Just try not to collect too many of them, all right? That sort of hobby is not exactly good for your health.”

She chortled. “Yes… right.”

“So…” Ever so gently, he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “We have the elves onboard. What's next?"

The music turned merrier the moment the words left him, while howls and cheers erupted around them. Several couples made their way to the bonfire, locking arms and skipping in circles as they laughed. Others clapped to the beat, grinning and smiling as they watched the show of spins, twirls, and hops.

A grin spread over Everil’s lips, the joy of the Dalish clan almost contagious. She rose from her seat and gazed down at him. “How about we think about that later and just dance instead?”

“W-Wait…” He gulped at her request, his expression promptly resembling that of a frightened deer. "I don't think that's a good idea..."

“Why? Don’t you think we’ve earned a little fun after all we’ve been through?”

"Trust me... There is  _ nothing  _ fun about my dancing... It's actually quite tragic." 

"Oh, I'm sure you're not as bad as you think." She bent over and reached for his other hand, accidentally presenting him with a closeup view of her enticing bosom. Needless to say, he was numb enough to oblige after that.

She dragged him out to the fire as the elves made way for the two to join in their dance. They stopped and Alistair awkwardly let her link her arm with his before she held up her skirt and skipped in the same fashion as those around them. Her partner anxiously tried to keep up the pace. And to his surprise, the energy of the jovial melody eventually took over.

“Hey, this actually feels pretty good!” he admitted, switching arms with her as they hopped in the opposite direction. 

“Of course it does!” Everil laughed. 

Seeing her so happy and carefree only made him smile wider. Even while jumping from foot to foot, he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful she looked. With her hair bouncing on her shoulders and her eyes bright as jewels.

Neither of them was the best dancer in the large group, but their laughter was enough to make the Dalish form a circle around them and clap while they cheered them on. For the first time, the Grey Wardens were genuinely having fun, casting aside the weight of their journey for just a moment while enjoying the company of total strangers. The same strangers who vowed to give up their lives to fight beside them against the darkspawn and their tainted god.

Meanwhile, behind the merry crowd and still sitting by herself, Morrigan was gripping Flemeth’s grimoire with shaking hands. Her horrified eyes were glued to the pages and all color had drained from her face. 

_ Mother... _


	7. Morrigan's Request

⚜

  
  
  


_A_ _n axe split a log in half,_ the pieces dropping to the ground. Its wielder gathered them up and tossed them on a nearby pile before another took its place. The bearded man rubbed the sweat from his forehead, red hair glistening under the sun. A series of giggles brought his gaze to a little girl running after one of their chickens, her blonde pigtails bouncing in the wind. "Marie, be careful now," he said to her from where he stood.

“Yes, Papa!” the child chimed, trying to grab the bird but it jumped, frantically flapping its wings. Dirt covered her gray dress and her freckled cheeks, but she didn’t seem at all fazed by it.

He smiled at her antics and resumed his task. 

Marie chased the animal through the dirt roads of their small village as people walking by sent her curious glances. She giggled and hurried past them, ignoring the smiles and the shaking heads she received. The chicken scrambled to the woodline, fleeing into the cover of the bushes. But Marie was close behind.

“Gotcha!” she proclaimed upon finally catching it and brought it to her chest. Grinning widely, she gently stroked its head and cooed at it, slightly calming the panicking bird. 

A rustle ahead drew her curious blue eyes, but she couldn’t see much past the shadow of the trees. More noises came, beckoning her to follow them as she slowly made her way towards them. The chicken clucked while she walked a few steps and pushed through the greenery, wandering further away from her village. A tall bush moving ahead caused her to pause, her face scrunching up curiously. “Hello?” she called timidly.

The branches kept shaking as if alive, the sound growing louder. More insistent. And then jagged blades burst through the dirt. Monsters emerged from the very earth, permanent grins stained with grime and dripping with drool. They cackled as they stalked from their holes, their soulless stares set upon her. 

Marie fearfully backed away, turned to flee and ran, nearly tripping over her own feet in her panic. The darkspawn roared and gave chase, their numbers growing as more of them poured out from the deep. Their evil laughter scratched at her ears as she frantically left the woods and returned to her village.

“Papa!” she called, drawing surprised looks from the other townsfolk.

The evil creatures came after her, rampaging through the brush and coming for them with weapons raised. Marie didn’t stop, running as fast as her short legs could take her, seeking her father’s protection as screams erupted all around her. The darkspawn cut down a man before he could run, then killed a woman soon after. More fell along their path, their blood soaking the dirt as the monsters carved their way through. 

She panted for breath, trying not to hear the suffering and fear. Trying not to listen. She had to get home to her papa. He would save her. He would protect her from these mean things. But just as her hut came to view, a hurlock reached her. She squealed when its blade graced her shoulder and she fell to the ground, letting go of the bird she’d been holding on to the entire time. The chicken tried to scamper away, but the same sword that cut her split the animal in half. It screeched and Marie stared at it in horror, seeing its blood splurt and pool beneath it. 

The hurlock laughed hoarsely down at her and lifted its blade once more, aiming for her.

“Marie!” Her father blocked its attack, driving it away from her. His axe then met the monster’s head and he slashed at it in a frightened frenzy, hitting it over and over until the creature moved no more. Then he spun and quickly reached for her, lifting her into his arms. 

“Close your eyes, pup! Don’t look!” he commanded and Marie did as she was told, shutting her eyes tight while clinging to him. They ran to the other side of the village as some darkspawn chased after them, the rest butchering others attempting to escape.

The sound of a snapping bowstring was then heard, and her father jolted with a cry when an arrow hit him in the back. He staggered but kept going, seeing the forest ahead. Just a little longer. They could hide in the thicket. Lose them somehow and go to Denerim. Find help and—

An arrow pierced his throat.

He gargled and fell, dropping her along with him. She screamed, seeing him on his hands and knees as blood poured from his mouth. 

“Papa!” she crawled to him, grabbing handfuls of his tunic. “Papa!”

He weakly pushed her off him. “R-Run…Mar—”

A sword descended upon him and the sickening sound of crunching bone came when it hacked into the back of his neck. Marie cowered as he crumpled to the ground, wheezing laboriously. She witnessed as the blade was plucked from him and then brought down again to finish the job as his horrified stare remained on her. 

The girl quivered, frozen in place as a dark shadow crept over her. Her wide eyes went up to the monster, meeting its soulless ones. It brought up its blood-stained sword and swung.

Then everything went black.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Footsteps echoed in the castle passages as a servant crossed through on quick feet, her short blond hair bobbing over elven ears. A bundle of fresh linen was held securely in her arms as she approached a set of double doors at the end of the hall. She knocked and waited for a response while anxiously gazing about. The queen’s handmaid opened them and regarded her sternly, her silky black hair tied into a bun, pointed ears visible. She was clad in a violet velvet dress, a fine garb only the head maid of the household could wear in spite of her race. 

The servant discreetly handed her the bundle. "For her Majesty, Lady Erlina." 

"Good work. Now go on to the kitchens and remember what I said. Not a word about this to anyone. Not even Teyrn Loghain."

“Yes, my lady.” She bowed and stepped away as the doors closed shut.

“Is that what I was expecting, Erlina?” Queen Anora rose from her copper bathtub, unashamed by her nudity before her as she gathered a towel and dried herself. The sweet scent of lavender filled the room, emanating from the warm waters she'd used to bathe. Her royal chambers were spacious and lavishly decorated with furs, fine textiles, and elegant wooden furniture. A patio and two windows surveyed a vast garden from high above, providing warm sunlight while a gentle breeze lifted the crimson curtains.

“Yes, Your Majesty." Erlina sauntered over to the bed and laid the sheets atop it before taking the robe lying next to them. She brought it to her and held it up as the queen slid both arms into the sleeves. The maid's gentle fingers then pulled her long, golden hair from under the fabric, letting it cascade down her back. After securing the sash about her narrow waist, the maid returned to their package, drawing a scroll that had been hidden within. She bowed and offered it to her. 

Anora gently took it and opened it with a solemn look before scanning the document. And her expression slowly soured at the news within. She went to the ornate chair by the window, her shoulders tense as she sat. “Andraste's mercy…”

The elf frowned worriedly. “Is something wrong, Your Majesty?" 

"The situation in Ferelden is... far worse than I expected." Anora slowly lowered the scroll, a soft breath escaping her. "The Blight has spread to The Hinterlands in the south and much of the farmland has been destroyed… Most have fled and are heading this way, but many of our farmers and their families have already been killed by the horde." She sighed once more, giving her head a despondent shake. "In Crestwood, further north… The darkspawn somehow managed to destroy the dam and flooded the village. My scouts don't yet know how many perished, but they fear it may have been nearly everyone."

The horrified Erlina put a hand to her chest. "North...? I thought the Blight was coming from the south. Has it spread that far?" 

"Cailan said darkspawn can come from anywhere underground. No place is safe during a Blight." She crumpled the parchment, so tightly her knuckles turned white. "There were hundreds of people in that village… and they were taking in hundreds more refugees—likely survivors seeking shelter in the northern lands. My people are dying and my father has done _nothing_ to stop it..."

“Your Highness..." Erlina took a tentative step towards her. "What of the Grey Wardens? Are they truly as bad as they say?"

Anora was conflicted at the mention of the order, her gaze shifting to the gardens outside her window. "Father told me that, by his reports, there may only be two of them left. And he has ordered their execution under claims that they murdered my husband." 

“I heard they killed some of Teyrn Howe's men at The Pearl some days ago...” the elf told her, nervously fidgeting with her fingers. “Declared your father a traitor and a liar…”

“Of course they would—” Her head snapped to her. "Wait. What were the Grey Wardens doing in Denerim?"

"No one knows... When we asked the innkeeper, he said he didn't realize who they were until they left. They only stayed a single night."

"Whatever it was, it must have been important enough to risk discovery and capture by our city guard. Which is probably why they killed Howe's soldiers..." She paused for a moment while pensively bringing a finger to her chin, then sent her a firm look. "I wish to know what they were after. Send our spies to seek out this information, but make sure my father does not learn of it. We must keep secrecy for now."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Erlina bowed her head and retreated from the room to do her bidding. 

A troubled sigh escaped the queen as she gazed out the window once more, admiring the deceptively peaceful view of her garden. There was little she could do for her country with her father acting ruler. She may yet hold the crown, but all the decisions were made by men. And although she had been the one pulling Cailan's strings before his passing, her father was an entirely different animal. He would listen to no one but himself at a time like this. _Cailan… you may have been a fool, but you were right about one thing. Ferelden needs help. And if not from Orlais, then from the Maker himself._

⚜⚜⚜⚜

It was the break of dawn but the Dalish camp was already bustling with activity as the elves returned to their daily duties. The air was fresh with the morning’s dew and the scent of pine as the birds chirped and fluttered through the trees. Galloping halla could be heard prancing nearby, accompanied by the idle conversations and morning greetings from their handlers.

Bjorn was lying on her sleeping furs as he watched his mistress fasten the leather straps of her armor and adjust the metal breastplate over her chest. Everil then took a knee to finish up her boots. Footsteps near her tent made her glance towards the flaps, seeing someone's silhouette behind the entrance.

"Warden Everil?" Wynne's familiar voice called to her.

"Come in," she replied.

The flap opened and the old mage stepped in, letting it fall back down behind her. Everil rose to speak with her. “What is it, Wynne? Is there something you need to talk about before we head out?"

She anxiously glanced down at her feet. "I... I came to apologize to you.”

"Apologize for what?"

"For speaking such nonsense about you and Alistair… I should have seen how the two of you support and rely on each other. It was not my place to judge you."

Everil placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It’s quite all right… You were only looking out for us."

"For what it’s worth… I hope the two of you can remain together after this is over.”

“Yes… I guess we'll see what happens…” Everil offered her a gentle smile. "One step at a time, right?" 

“Of course…” Wynne returned the smile with one of her own. 

"Come on. We should go collect the others,” said the Warden before gesturing for the entrance. They walked out together, her hound following behind them as they headed towards where the new Keeper and Alistair were talking. She was also a mage, but much younger than Zathrian, with swirling patterns over her fair skin. Her beautiful blonde hair was tied into two braids, her robes carrying the colors of the forest itself.

"Here she comes." Alistair turned to Everil, grinning widely. "I was just thanking Keeper Lanaya for letting us spend the night here."

"And you are welcome to visit any time you wish," Lanaya added with a friendly dip of her head. "Your assistance in our time of need will always be remembered, Grey Wardens. Know that you may call upon us when our help is needed against the Blight."

“Thank you. We will be honored to have you fighting at our side,” she politely replied. Smiling warmly, the Keeper returned to her duties, leaving the Wardens and their party to gather at the center of their smaller camp. 

"All right, we should plan our next destination," Everil said, folding her arms. "We still have to use the treaty with the Dwarves and continue searching for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. It will be a long journey from here, so we must stop somewhere in between to replenish any supplies and purchase what we need. Thoughts?"

"Both Orzammar and this Haven village are located in the Frostback Mountains, so there's a pretty cold trip ahead of us. Redcliffe's merchants should have some cold-weather gear we can wear to protect ourselves," Alistair offered. 

"My, but the toadstool has a brain in that head of his, after all," Morrigan commented dryly, standing a distance from the group.

"Also..." He sent her a brief glare and continued. "I'm sure Bann Teagan and the arlessa will want to know what we've learned about the Urn. They'll be pleased to hear that it might actually exist and that we may be close to saving the arl."

"Woah… That sounds like some influential people you have dealings with," Zevran uttered in quiet amusement. "No wonder that Teyrn Loghain wants you dead."

"That is another matter..." Leliana added with a frown. "Although close by, we should probably avoid Denerim until things have calmed down. I'm sure the townsfolk will leave us alone after your display at The Pearl, but the soldiers might not."

"You're right," Alistair agreed.

"Hmm… Redcliffe is on the way to the Frostback Mountains..." Everil traced the route in her head as she tapped her cheek with a finger. Then she gazed at them and nodded. "All right, it’s decided. We will go there first, stock up, and move on to Orzammar."

With a plan in mind, the group gathered their gear and mounted their horses. They said their goodbyes to the Dalish elves and made their way out of the forest, slowly leaving the tall, lush pine trees behind and venturing back into the Fereldan plains. 

Everyone was silent as they journeyed across the desolate road, the only sound that of their galloping horses and the occasional breeze rustling the grassland. Everil stared ahead in contemplation while leading them southwest through the King's Highway and in Redcliffe’s direction.

They were close now. Incredibly close. They only needed to use the last treaty and they would have most of the resources to challenge the archdemon and its darkspawn. The memory of its raging flames and its jagged fangs haunted her, its mighty roar still in her head. Eventually, they would fight that mythical beast, a being possibly almost as old as the Maker himself. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to fight a dragon, much less one harnessing the power of a relentless army.

There were very few dragons in Ferelden, after having been hunted to near extinction by warriors of old. Therefore, she and her family had never seen one in person, only read about them in books and legends. The creatures were said to be great, mighty beasts, capable of single-handedly leveling cities and small armies. All dragons could also use elements such as fire and electricity, making them more destructive and so powerful that the Tevinter Imperium worshiped them as gods. 

A chill ran down her spine and she found herself hoping that those tales were nothing but an exaggeration. That the terrifying dragon in her dreams would be just that—a nightmare she could wake up from and defeat through sheer will. 

They were halfway to Redcliffe when the sun began to set, so the group was forced to seek out a spot to camp. They veered off the main road and began to search, aiming for a place with water nearby.

"You seem awfully uncomfortable, Sten. What's the matter?” Leliana looked up at the qunari, who was riding his horse some distance next to her.

"The forest was refreshing, now everything smells of wet dogs again,” he replied dryly, curling his nose. "I do not like that smell."

Bjorn whined from his spot upon the rump of Everil’s horse, riding with her ahead of the group.

"But that's the best part of Ferelden!" Alistair said with a proud grin, traveling on the other side of the former sister. "It gives us character."

"How so?" Sten stoically asked.

"Our mabari hounds are known and feared for their might in battle. They're a symbol of our strength and resilience as a country. That's why we love our dogs so much," he repeated the same words Arl Eamon once told him, recalling all the paintings at the castle, and how he often asked about them as a child. He smiled, continuing on. "I mean, you have seen our little four-legged companion fight, right? I think he's a good example."

"I have..." Sten replied, glancing towards the animal.

Leliana giggled. "I wouldn't exactly call him little, but Bjorn is quite strong."

The hound responded with a bark.

"And smart too!" Alistair added. 

There was another agreeable bark, and a few of them chuckled in amusement at the dog’s attempt at conversation. 

"Yes, smart...” Morrigan interjected bitterly. “Unlike some people…”

The group turned to her, Alistair arching a brow. "Is it just me or have you been bitchier than usual lately?"

"I tire of listening to your moronic voices. Yours especially.”

"If you hate it here so much then why don't you just leave? I'm sure none of us would miss you,” he retorted moodily.

Leliana tried to intervene. "Uhm… I don't think—” 

“Yes, you do. All of you may not say it, but you think it,” Alistair cut her off, still glaring daggers at the witch. “All she ever does is insult us. And she's always off on her own, acting all high and mighty like we're nothing but dirt under her feet.”

Morrigan arrogantly lifted her nose at him. “’Tis only you I regard that way, Alistair. You are a weak, pathetic, little man. Groveling for the affection of others like a worthless mutt.”

At that, Bjorn whined and sent her a hurt look.

“You’re just saying that because you don’t understand feelings, Morrigan. You’re just some heartless shrew who's never known what it's like to have real friends,” he replied coldly, fed up by her insults. “At least I’ll have people who cared about me in the end. Unlike you, who I wager will just end up a crazy, lonely hag like your mother."

A dark expression dawned over her at his words, but she found herself frustratingly speechless. How dare he compare her to her? How dare he speak in ignorance? She climbed off before her horse could stop, then stalked into the woods, her hands blazing. The rest of the party watched her go, some visibly concerned.

Alistair breathed out the nose, feeling a subtle pang of guilt he couldn’t justify. He craned his head to the others, seeing Leliana and Wynne's shocked stares. While Zevran was snickered nearby, having been entertained by their spat. “What?” he challenged and averted his stare. "I've had to travel with her for longer than you guys have. And trust me when I say that two months of dealing with her is plenty long.”

"Well… I guess we'll be camping here," Everil sighed, tiredly dismounting. Why the two of them were constantly at each other’s throats was beyond her, but it was getting old. "I’ll go talk to her... The rest of you can just start setting up your tents."

⚜⚜⚜⚜

As the others began unpacking, she followed the same path the witch had taken. She had taken notice of the woman's change in behavior. But she'd simply assumed that perhaps it was just one of those days in which she and Alistair couldn't stand each other.

When she found her, she was casting spells upon an unfortunate tree stump that just so happened to be in her path. She set it on fire, then froze it solid, locking the ashes in the ice. Feeling her presence, Morrigan lowered her arms, shoulders rising and falling as she released soft puffs of air. "I know not what you see in that man..." she groused, briefly glancing over one shoulder at her. "He is infuriating." 

Everil took a few tentative steps towards her. "I know you two don't get along, but I have a feeling that Alistair is not the real reason you’re upset this time.”

A pause followed as she remained silent for a moment, staring off into the distance. Then she spoke, just loud enough for her to hear. "Do you remember the tales I told you of my mother?" 

"Yes…" Everil approached her, coming to stand beside her. "Of course I do."

"Those legends oft' spoke of many witches… not just the one."

"I recall hearing about that. How Flemeth's daughters would drag away misbehaving children to their doom. But I thought those were only stories to scare little ones into obedience."

Morrigan swallowed and her troubled voice came once more. "I have found that... part of that story is true." 

"Which part?"

"Flemeth has had many daughters, but I have never seen any of them. I now know why… ‘Tis because all those witches from the tales are all Flemeth." 

"What?" Everil breathed in disbelief.

She cast a disturbed look upon her. "Her grimoire explained the process in great detail. Each time her body withers, Flemeth raises a daughter. And when the time is right, she takes over her. ‘Tis source of her immortality… How she has lived for so long.” 

“But... if that's the case, then why risk your life by sending you with us?”

“I cannot say... Perhaps she thought this journey would make me more powerful.” She shook her head and put on an obstinate expression. “It matters not. I do not intend to sit idly by like an empty sack waiting to be filled."

Everil knitted her brows. "What will you do?"

"There is only one possible response to this. If I am to live, then Flemeth needs to die.” Morrigan released a breath, an almost imperceptible sadness over her eyes. "But I cannot get close to her... The moment I do so, she may very well try to possess my body right then and there… However, you might be able to help me."

The Warden stiffened, almost too afraid to ask. “What do you need me to do?"

"You will have to battle her and slay her yourself. ‘Tis the only way.”

 _Oh, great…_ Everil gulped at her answer. _That would certainly be easier said than done…_

Many warriors have tried to slay the Witch of the Wilds in times past, only to fall under her incredible power. And although most thought of those fables as mere tales, there was always a kernel of truth in those songs sung by the bards. Still, despite her reservations, Morrigan was asking for her help and she couldn't just leave her alone in this. Especially not after all she’d done to aid them since they met—willingly or no. She took in a breath. "Very well… I'll help you. How do you suggest we proceed?”

Morrigan was a bit surprised by her response. She hadn't expected her to simply agree, especially considering the danger she would be walking into. "I shall remain in Redcliffe village while you and the others head south to the Wilds and engage her there. The further I am from the fight, the better it shall be. I also would like for you to obtain her true grimoire. She has it locked in a chest within our hut."

“Why do you need the book?”

“Even if you slay Flemeth, there is a possibility that she will not stay dead. If I have her grimoire and she manages to find me…" She nervously licked her lips. "Then... I could use it to at least make a more worthy attempt at surviving her ire.” 

"All right...” She nodded confidently. “I won’t allow Flemeth to possess you. You have my word on that." 

“I…” Morrigan's usually frigid stare softened at her oath. "You have my thanks…"

Everil grinned slightly at her. "Hey... What are friends for?"

The witch gradually returned the smile with a newfound appreciation for the girl. She knew herself to be a cold person with little desire to let anyone in. It was safer that way. Away from the dangers of the heart and the burdens emotional attachments often brought. But for her… For this Grey Warden... She may be willing to make an exception. 


	8. The Witch of the Wilds

⚜

  
  


_ M _ _ orning came quickly for the  _ Grey Wardens and their companions. And it was after Everil finished packing her gear that she called on her fellow Warden to discuss her new plan. They met past the cover of the brush and away from the others, seeking the privacy of a small patch of trees.

“Slay Flemeth? Is that even possible?” Alistair asked in open disbelief.

“Morrigan once told me it was. She said Flemeth's weakness was her heart,” she answered, folding her arms.

“If you can even get to it. She’s the Witch of the Wilds...” He anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. “Is there no other way to settle this? Maybe just talk to her instead?”

Everil chuckled, leaning against the tree behind her. “What do you think she’ll say? ‘All right, lads. Since you asked so nicely, I shall let that daughter go and simply make another. Say, would you mind terribly if I borrowed your fellow Warden for the night?’”

"Ugh..." Alistair grimaced. “Was that last part really necessary? As if I don't have enough nightmares as it is.”

"The point is that we don't have much of a choice here. We can't just leave Morrigan alone in this."

"And why not?"

That earned him a disapproving look. "Alistair—”

"I know, I know… She’s one of us... As much as it  _ pains  _ me to admit it.” He sighed. “At any rate, if we’re doing this, then we’ll have to prepare well. And I mean,  _ very _ well. Especially if we want to come out alive and return to our original impossible task.”

“I think we’ll be fine,” she assured him with a smile. “We’ve become quite good at conquering impossible tasks." 

“Or it’s just been luck…” He half-smiled, also crossing his arms. “Which, by the way, may run out if we keep testing it. And as the only Grey Wardens left, if we get turned into frogs and boiled alive in Flemeth's pot, what's left of Ferelden will surely follow. We're indispensable, you and I. Isn't that a nice little piece of irony?"

She frowned worriedly. “Come to think of it… Perhaps you should stay behind in Redcliffe as well, just in case.”

“Yeah, that's not gonna happen…” He stepped up to her and rested a forearm against her tree, all the while gazing into her eyes. “We're in this together, remember?”

She chuckled a little. “So you're willing to come with me, risk your life, and possibly die fighting an abomination that may very well devour us all?”

“Heh… Are you kidding?” he spoke quietly, leaning ever closer while gently stroking her jawline with his thumb. “I couldn’t just let you have all the fun, you know...” And his lips claimed hers. Everil sighed softly, passionately reciprocating the kiss as her arms slithered over his shoulders. Time seemed to drag around them, ticking in a steady rhythm as they poured their growing need into each other. A need that was becoming more and more difficult to ignore.

“Perhaps a room in the next town would be beneficial for the both of you.”

Alistair broke away from her and groaned, shooting Zevran an annoyed glare. He was standing a short distance from them, with a grin on his face and hands at his hips. A blushing Everil licked her lips, sternly regarding their assassin despite her embarrassment. “What is it, Zevran?”

“I only came to let you know that we are up and ready to move. As soon as you two are done drooling over each other, that is...” 

“Thank you…” Everil muttered and gently pushed past her fellow Warden to head back to camp.

“Of course, my lady.” He gave her an exaggerated bow and his eyes followed her, openly admiring the swell of her rear until she disappeared behind the brush.

“Couldn’t you at least try to be less obvious?” Alistair questioned, arms crossed over his chest. “At least in front of me…”

Zevran shrugged and snickered playfully. “Well, I cannot touch her… but I can still take every opportunity to look. She's got a rather tempting sway to her hips, that one.”

“You're disgusting…”

“As if you don't do the same thing..." he countered and his smile broadened into a wolfish grin. "I bet you just can't wait to get her into your bed. You are wasting precious time, my friend. Nobody wants to die a virgin."

“How did you...?” Alistair blurted out, heat rushing to his ears.

The elf laughed at his reaction. "I admit it took me a while to notice, but the way you awkwardly fidget and stare when she’s around makes it very easy to see.”

“Y-You…” He stalked past him, grumbling under his breath, “I hate you…” 

“Oh, come now. I thought we were getting along.” Zevran chuckled and trekked after him, utterly amused. The Warden was so easily flustered, he just couldn’t help himself. And with death looming over them, he may as well have his fun along the way.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

They set off again, traveling further southwest through the deserted roads on their way to Redcliffe. The hours went by as they trailed up and down the hills, with Everil noticing how much colder the air felt with every fleeting breeze. She looked south, observing the ominous dark clouds that crawled over the horizon. Red lightning flashed amongst them as distant thunder roared across the vast wilderness. She could feel the horde was still miles away, the taint pulling on her blood as one would tug on a string. Meanwhile, those familiar voices whispered in her head, scraping at her skull like blades over stone—a strange sensation she couldn’t get accustomed to. And perhaps never would, regardless of how many years she had left to live.

It was even stranger to know that she was slowly dying as the darkspawn’s corruption consumed her body. Her destiny had once been to be married off to some lord just to bear his children and carry on his name, only to die in a bed of old age. Never did it cross her mind that she would end up a Grey Warden. Sacrificing everything to secure humanity’s survival in a thankless quest against evil.

“Is that the Blight?”

Everil snapped out of her reverie and glanced towards Zevran, who was also staring at the churning darkness. “Yes… Scary isn’t it?” 

“It’s so close… How long will it take for it to reach Redcliffe?” Wynne asked with unease from behind Leliana.

“I don’t know for sure, but they’re far enough for now…” Alistair replied, uncertainty in his tone. “It might take them several weeks or maybe months to get there. At least that’s my hope.” 

They eventually reached a forested area, just as the sun began to set. Red and amber light filtered through the high branches overhead, shrouding the road in a kaleidoscope of moving patterns. All the chirping from the birds and the rustling of the greenery seemed to cease the further they went into those woods, bringing about a dark, eerie atmosphere. A chilling wind flowed through them, lifting their cloaks. And then both Grey Wardens brought their steeds to a stop.

“Do you feel that…?” Alistair whispered a short distance from Everil.

“Damn it…” she hissed and her head snapped to the trees. “They’re here!”

Darkspawn burst out from the brush, rushing at them from all sides and for the first time taking them by surprise. A hurlock ran at Everil’s horse, attempting to hack at it as the animal neighed in fright. Her foot connected with the monster’s face, pushing it off her before swiftly dismounting along with her hound. She drew her weapons as another tried to attack her and blocked the hit. Metal screeched against metal as she parried the nightmarish blade away, then she spun, slashing across its chest. 

Her companions promptly followed suit, defending their horses while taking on the incoming enemies. Everil cut down a genlock and glanced about, seeing the mounts struggling to keep the darkspawn away. She clicked her tongue and ran to her steed’s rump before slapping it and startling it into motion. It ran away, galloping without pause as Everil turned to the others. “Send your horses away! Hurry!”

The party did as they were told, forcing their mounts into a frantic sprint and out of the battlefield. Alistair turned around and blocked a hurlock’s blade with his shield. Then he thrust, hitting it in the face and staggering it before running it through. Nearby, Wynne summoned an ice spell, freezing every creature in its path while Sten and Bjorn destroyed each one.

“Ugly things!” Zevran shouted while dodging an axe. He shifted on his feet, swinging both daggers to slash at three genlocks. Meanwhile, Leliana fired an arrow at a hurlock edging towards him, piercing its head like a melon.

Morrigan was standing at a distance, summoning a fire spell that enveloped a few of the darkspawn as they appeared from the woods. They screeched loudly as they burned, leaving nothing but scattering ashes behind. Then as she spun to ignite another wave, a feminine figure caught her attention. Shock fell over her and she froze, seeing her approach with casual, confident strides, amber eyes locked with her own. 

“Mother…”

A great wave of blistering fire torched through it all, instantly incinerating the remaining darkspawn while somehow missing their party. Everil watched their enemies disintegrate in stunned silence, standing in awe at the spell’s immense power. Then slowly, hesitantly, she shifted her attention to the new arrival. 

“Well, well… What have we here?” Flemeth uttered darkly, her cold stare fixed upon them. “Morrigan and her little helpers, now scheming to end this old wretch’s life.” 

The horrified Morrigan retreated a step. “H-How did you…?”

A wicked smirk spread over the Witch of the Wilds’ wizened features. She stopped a short distance from them, setting her sights on her offspring. “I have not lived this long without the ability to know what goes on outside of the Wilds, girl. I watch everything. See everything. You should know this.”

Leliana edged towards Alistair. “What’s happening?”

“That’s Flemeth, Morrigan’s mother…” he replied, visibly nervous himself. “That should tell you enough...”

“Flemeth…?  _ The  _ Flemeth?”

He nodded once. 

“Maker…” Wynne gasped, while Sten and Zevran tensed up.

Everil walked up to Morrigan, using her body to keep her from the witch’s gaze. She raised her chin in defiance, hiding all fear behind a facade of confidence. “Why have you come here, Flemeth?”

Surprised, Morrigan stared at the back of the Warden’s head. That she was trying to shield her was commendable, but that alone would not stop her mother from getting to her. And the way she held that sword of hers, with a tight, quivering grip, told her that she knew this too.

“Does a mother need a reason to visit her child?” Flemeth said with mock tenderness.

“Answer the question!” Everil sharply demanded. 

“Oh? You have grown quite a bit since last I saw you, lass… ‘Tis quite impressive, but irrelevant nonetheless.” Flemeth’s smile slowly vanished into a frigid expression. “I came to offer a bargain, Grey Wardens... Do not fight me and I shall swear to leave Morrigan be until the Blight has been defeated. Fight me and you all die. Simple, is it not?”

“To you, perhaps…” Morrigan quietly retorted.

The old witch glanced briefly at her daughter and returned to the Warden. “If you die, the Blight will likely engulf all of Ferelden, which would be an inconvenience to me. So I would prefer you choose wisely. After all, this is between Morrigan and myself. It does not concern any of you.” 

Morrigan nervously scowled at the back of Everil’s head, waiting anxiously for her decision. It didn’t take long.

“I beg to differ…” Everil aimed her sword at her. “She’s my friend, which makes this my problem too. I won’t allow you to threaten her.”

A shocked look befell Flemeth at her words, prompting a brief moment of stunned silence. And she laughed. Loud and hard, throwing her head back as her shoulders shook. “Friend? Oh, how blind you are… Morrigan is using you, girl! She only sees you as a tool she can manipulate to get her way. I know this because I have taught her so.” 

“You placed her in my hands so that I may use her against the Blight, and I’ve done so from the start. If she needs me now, then I consider that a fair trade,” Everil countered. “Nothing you say will change my mind. I won’t let you have her.”

Morrigan listened to the exchange in a quiet stupor. This woman was risking it all to help her, something no one had ever done before. And to her surprise, everyone else in their group seemed to think the same way. They approached the two women, preparing their weapons to face the fearsome being before them. Without question.

“Then you have made your choice,” Flemeth said with fake regret as flames engulfed her body. “Such a shame...”

All backed away as they witnessed her transformation. The witch began to shift and change at an unnatural speed, joints popping and sagging skin stretching. Her body grew in size, morphing into something that was not human. Her face elongated into a hideous snarl, lined with razor-sharp teeth. 

“No… that form...” Morrigan breathed fearfully while her mind screamed at her to run.

_ Maker…  _ Everil was rooted to the spot, unable to look away from the creature.

Horns broke up from Flemeth’s head as crimson scales spread over her skin. And the swirling flames raged like a tornado as a pair of giant wings erupted from her back. In moments her muscles bulged until something massive replaced the once frail old hag. Smoke flowed in plumes from its nostrils as it cast its yellow glare upon them and a low growl rumbled from deep within its throat.

“A dragon…” Alistair gulped, blurred memories from Ostagar rushing back. “It’s the same dragon from the tower…”

It took a step that shook the ground beneath their feet, its massive body towering over them. Razor-sharp claws stabbed through the dirt and rock as it snarled viciously, promising a swift and painful death. Growling once more, it drew in a deep breath and its neck glowed like a torch. 

Everil instantly knew what that meant. “ _ Fire! _ ”

She grabbed Morrigan by the arm and they all ran in different directions, barely avoiding the flaming breath that instantly scorched everything in its path. Everil whispered a curse and whirled around, giving the dragon another look. It was armored by its scales, so penetrating its defenses would be difficult. Its underbelly, however, seemed to be slick and more vulnerable.

“Bjorn, Sten, Zevran, and Alistair. You all focus on its legs and belly!” she called out from the other side of the battleground. “Watch for the claws!”

“Got it!” Alistair shouted back, accompanied by a bark from her hound.

Everil then turned to the other mage, seeing her standing near the edge of the woods. “Wynne! I want you out of this until I tell you otherwise!”

“Understood!”

“Leliana, stand back and use your arrows! Aim for the chest!”

“Yes!” 

The Warden then sternly regarded Morrigan, placing a hand on her shoulder as the woman nervously stared back. “I want you to keep moving to Redcliffe on your own. The horses shouldn’t be too far down the road.” 

“What?” She knitted her eyebrows. “Are you asking me to leave you behind?”

“I am. Now, do as I say and get out of here,” Everil commanded, facing the dragon.

She hesitated. “But—“ 

“Go!”

Morrigan took a tentative step back, nodding shakily before running into the woods behind her. Seeing her go, Everil returned her attention to the beast while the others ran in to engage it. She cried out and rushed to join them, weapons raised and prepared to strike. 

The dragon slammed its claws down and kicked with its hind legs, sending rock and debris shooting back while the group struggled to get beneath it. Everil ducked from a swipe of its claws and slashed, her blade gracing over its solid armor, merely scratching it. She rolled out of the way of a stomp and slashed and stabbed, catching an unprotected spot under its arm.

Sten released a cry of his own, swinging his greatsword and slicing the back end of a hind leg, severing several tendons over the joint. The dragon roared and hopped, flapping its wings and unleashing a gust of wind that swept over the battlefield. They all grunted, fighting against the gale threatening to knock them off their feet. 

"Watch out!" screamed Leliana as the beast dropped in one explosive slam, throwing them all to the ground. It then took off again, this time flapping its wings faster, flying higher as it primed another breath. They struggled against the gusts again while Everil brought her arm up to protect her face from the dirt and dust. Then she saw its throat glow red once more. 

“Incoming!” she yelled, leaping sideways to avoid the attack as fire missed her legs by inches. 

The flames continued like a stream, burning everything while the fighters scrambled to flee from it. The woods around them were set ablaze in moments, illuminating the night skies as the dragon released an earth-shattering roar. An arrow came and hit it in the chest, making it screech as it fell, landing heavily once more. But it kept fighting, swiping at the next wave of arrows with its massive tail. 

Panting for breath, Everil watched her companions run in again and attack its legs and belly. The beast’s blood sprayed over the ground, oozing from its wounds. But although successful in injuring it, the dragon was relentless. And they were getting tired as it kept them on the defensive, forcing them to dodge after each hit they managed to land.

With a determined expression, she put away her dagger and broke into a run, wielding Elethea with both hands. The dragon saw her coming and sneered, waiting for her. She cried out, ready to swing with all her might when its massive maws snapped at her. Everil jumped out of the way, but it followed through, tilting its head and sweeping her with its horns. It knocked her off her feet and she hit the ground so hard that she dropped her sword and hit her head.

Everil heard someone call her name, but she couldn’t make out who it was. She shakily pushed herself up, holding her sore stomach while trying to focus back on the dragon. But just as her sight cleared, its front claws were up, ready to strike her down. Her eyes widened as they came and she felt herself being tackled by something hard. A pain-filled cry reached her ears as she and the person holding her were sent flying to the edge of the clearing. Their bodies tumbled over bushes, dirt, and roots, and then darkness claimed her.

A roar pierced the night, stirring her awake from her brief lapse in consciousness. She opened her eyes with a soft moan, her head pounding as blood trickled from her temple. Everil found herself lying on her back, disoriented, in pain, and with someone’s body pinning her back to the ground. She turned her head, unable to see their face, but quickly recognized the familiar blue on the person’s collar.

Her breath caught in her throat. “Alistair…?"

But there was no response.

“Alistair,” she called more forcefully, touching his sides to wake him. And it was then that her glove slipped over something wet and the scent of blood saturated her nostrils. 

_ No…  _ Worry gave way to panic as Everil frantically rolled him over and knelt beside him, her horrified stare landing on his mangled side. The dragon’s claws had ripped apart his armor, carving three grizzly gashes through muscle and bone. “N-No… No, no, no...” She desperately pressed her hands to his wounds, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. “Alistair!”

A mighty roar made her head whip towards Flemeth as she drew in a breath and unleashed another jet of flames towards them. She was paralyzed by it, a mixture of anguish and frustration gripping her as she watched it come. Then a blackbird came flying from the woods and burst into magic before someone’s back blocked her vision. A great wall of ice surged from the ground and the fire clashed against it, stopping it before it could reach them. It kept regenerating as the fire melted the surface, building new layers until the dragon’s breath was spent. 

“Morrigan…?” Everil stared at her in shock. “Why are you—”

“I do not know!” She gazed down at her with a troubled frown. “I just… could not leave.”

Movement from the corner of their eyes drew their attention to Wynne, who was rushing to them with staff in hand. “Oh, no…” The mage knelt next to Alistair, worriedly cupping his pale cheek. “Andraste’s mercy…”

Everil helplessly watched her inspect his wounds, seeing that he was barely breathing and blood was pooling beneath him. Shaking hands took one of his, holding it tightly as she tried to regain control of her nerves. He was dying. He was dying and there was nothing she could do to help him.

Hot anger rose within her, boiling over as she clenched her teeth. Flemeth would pay for what she did to him. She would make her pay.

“Wynne.” 

The old woman gazed at her, seeing the sharpness in her eyes. 

“I want you to focus all of your energy on healing him,” Everil commanded firmly. “Stay with him, no matter what happens.”

“I will,” Wynne replied and promptly summoned her powers, placing her wrinkled hands over his wounds. 

“Morrigan.” Everil stood and faced her. “Can you cast that ice sheet more than once?”

“Yes... I have enough mana for a few more spells.”

“Good. I'm going to attack Flemeth head-on and I need you to use it to shield me every time she breathes fire.”

Morrigan gave a firm nod. “Understood.”

With renewed determination, the Grey Warden began to make her way to her sword, which lay upon the ground, waiting for her. The dragon spun around, using its tail to drive away those still fighting before returning its piercing glare to her. It snarled and growled, watching her emerge from the burning brush and step fearlessly through the flames.

Everil kept her gaze locked with the creature’s and quickened her pace, breaking into a run as the beast prepared another attack. Crying out, she picked up her blade and charged, raising Elethea with both hands.

More flames came, hurling towards her and halting her advance as Morrigan raised a wall of ice before her. Everil protected her face with an arm as she waited for the flames to stop, their incredible heat kissing her skin. Then she ran once more, darting around her shield and straight towards her target. 

The dragon screeched at the quickly approaching Warden, releasing another stream of fire that was again blocked by her daughter’s power. This time Everil cut open what remained of her melting ice, breaking through and leading with her sword. 

“Die, Flemeth!" she cried out and leaped off the ground, plunging her blade deep into its flesh. The dragon shrieked in agony as Everil let go of her weapon, leaving it buried within it while retreating several steps. Panting heavily, she watched it squirm and reach for her sword as flames swirled around it, engulfing it as they had before. The blaze raged on, ricing like a storm as the witch began to shift and shrink. 

Morrigan cautiously approached the Warden, focused on her mother’s agonizing form as conflicting emotions coursed through her. 

With effort, Flemeth shapeshifted back to her human self, holding on to the blade still piercing her chest while barely standing. The Witch of the Wilds let out a broken cackle, sights upon her daughter. “You… have learned more than I expected." A wicked smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Well done... Morrigan.”

A surge of magical power enveloped her, then as quickly as it came, it dissipated along with the witch herself. The bloodied sword clanked to the ground and then something more dropped with it. Silence followed, stretching on as Everil neared her blade and picked it up. “We did it…”

“My mother is resourceful…” said Morrigan, sighing tiredly. “She would have planned ahead for this.”

Everil scowled, then gazed towards the empty space where the body should have been. "So she's still out there?" 

"Yes… But you have bought me some time nonetheless." Morrigan paused as she leaned over to take the other item her mother left behind. It was another book, a leafless tree etched over its black cover.  _ Her true grimoire...? Why would she be carrying it with her? _

“I have to go check on Alistair...” Everil sheathed her weapon, turned and ran, heading back towards Wynne. She jogged to a halt and fell on her knees again, looking over her fellow Warden with growing concern. The others in her party slowly gathered around them, all carrying minor injuries of their own. Bjorn approached Alistair’s unconscious form, whining a little while nuzzling his cheek.

“Warden Everil…” Wynne gazed at her as a drop of sweat slid down her brow. “There was a great deal of internal damage I had to mend. I managed to close the wounds but he has lost a lot of blood…” She sighed and shook her head. “I have done all I can for him…”

Her heart twisted painfully, eyes trailing down to him as a suffocating knot formed inside her throat. “There has to be something more...” She placed a hand over his chest and looked to the other mage. “Morrigan… You know of healing herbs. Is there anything you can do?"

“I know of herbs but I am not as well versed as my mother was…” she answered with a rare apologetic expression. “He will require someone with more experience than I.”

“Lying out here in the cold will not help him,” Wynne added quietly, a hand on hers in a calming gesture. “We should hurry back to Redcliffe. Perhaps the bann can also recruit the help of a healer."

“I...” Everil swallowed, helplessly hanging her head. “I need one of you to seek out our horses. If they were trained properly, they should still be in the area. Bjorn will guide you to them.”

“I’ll go,” Zevran offered soberly and then motioned for the dog to lead the way. “Let us go, boy.”

“Thank you, Zevran…” she whimpered, unable to keep the distress from her voice. He bowed his head, then followed the hound. They hurried down the road, the fires around them still lighting up the night sky.


	9. Alistair's Nightmare

⚜

  
  
  


_ A _ _ series of knocks awoke Teagan  _ from his slumber, causing him to sit up with a start. Huffing out a breath, he climbed off the bed, tiredly adjusting his gray undershirt for modesty’s sake while seeing it was still dark outside the window. He opened the door to find one of his brother's surviving soldiers standing in the hall, prompting a concerned look from him. “What is it, man? Did something happen?”

The soldier took a few breaths, spent from running. “The Grey Wardens have returned, my lord. And one of them appears to have been seriously injured.”

“What…? Where are they?”

“They’ve just arrived at the castle entrance.” 

Teagan patted his arm and both made haste down the hallway and to the gates.The group of travelers was just dismounting when he and the guard exited the castle and climbed down the stairs to meet them. "Lady Everil!" called the bann, jogging to her.

“Bann Teagan…” She handed the reins to one of the soldiers and looked at him pleadingly. “I apologize for the intrusion but we’re in desperate need of help.”

“What happened?” Teagan worriedly approached her. 

She swallowed and turned to Zevran, who was still atop his horse. A motionless Alistair was leaning heavily against his back, breathing laboriously through parted lips.

“Andraste’s mercy…” Teagan went to him, horrified by the sight of his torn, bloodied armor. He glanced over his pale face, noticing a thin layer of sweat upon his brow. “He’s feverish…” he breathed out, then spun to address the guards standing by, pointing to one of them while barking commands. “You go fetch the town’s healer! And you two help bring him inside! Hurry!”

Wasting no time, the men did their bidding, nearing the horse and carefully taking hold of the Warden. They hastily carried him into the castle, while Everil and the rest of their companions followed. He was taken to the closest room in the family quarters and laid over a bed. While Teagan lit the fireplace in the corner, filling the chamber with much-needed warmth and light. 

Everil trudged to Alistair’s side and began to undo the buckles on his armor, briefly glancing at her companions as she worked. “You can all go rest for the night... I’ll take care of this.”

“Are you... sure?” Morrigan asked softly.

“Yes... go.”

The witch hesitated, sending Alistair a brief look before walking out after the others. Everil unclasped the damaged plates on his chest and grunted when lifting them, revealing the torn gambeson beneath. An uncomfortable weight pressed against her heart, hands shaking as she stared. Had it not been for his armor, he would have probably died instantly. She gulped, attempting to block her own terrible thoughts while placing the ruined metal on a nearby table.

“What happened out there?" Teagan quietly questioned.

“It’s a… long story,” she sighed wearily. 

“Did you call for me, my lord?”

They both gazed at the door as an old woman sauntered in, wearing a sleeping robe, furs, and a large bag at her hip. She bowed to Teagan, long, white braid nearly touching the floor. Everil recognized her, having seen her tending to the villagers inside the Chantry before their battle against the undead. 

He motioned for her to come closer. "Yes, Vellore. The young man here needs your help."

Everil stepped aside, letting her approach her fellow Warden. The old woman made quick work of the straps holding his gambeson in place, then used a small knife to slice open his undershirt. She inspected the angry scars that marred his skin, a confused expression dawning on her. "These look healed."

"We used magic on the field...” Everil replied weakly, feeling helpless. "It wasn't enough…"

"Ah, I see.” She placed a wrinkled hand on his forehead, feeling heat against her palm while looking him over once more. "These claw marks are significant... What were you fighting?"

"A dragon."

Both Teagan and Vellore gave her surprised looks.

"A dragon...?" he echoed in disbelief.

“Yes…” Everil seemed unwilling to explain further. “We weren’t prepared for it.”

“An infection courses through him and blood loss keeps him from waking… I can craft something that may help him, but I cannot say how effective it will be." She checked his pulse and sullenly shook her head. “He is too weak…"

“No,” Teagan’s firm tone left no room for failure. "Ferelden’s stability may rest on this boy's shoulders. You  _ must _ save him." 

She tensed at his words, then nodded slowly. “I will do my best…”

Everil glanced at him, knowing he was referring to the throne in spite of Alistair's refusal to claim it. She didn't comment, however. Too worried and worn out to care about politics at the moment.

The healer prepared a mixture of herbs, wine, and honey, eventually forming a thick, red liquid. Her weazened hands gently lifted Alistair's head and made him swallow it, some trickling down his chin. She then removed the bloodied clothes and cleaned his scars, using more herbs to reduce scarring before bandaging them to keep the medicine in place. His bloodstained clothes were replaced with a white undershirt, allowing his body to breathe as sweat coated his skin.

"It is done." She wiped her hands with a rag, addressing the two. “Now we wait and hope he makes it. The potion should help him regain some of his strength… but it will all depend on him."

“Is that all that can be done…?” Everil desperately asked.

“Yes… I am sorry,” Vellore replied sympathetically. “He seems to be a strong lad, however… You must have faith in him. I shall return at sunrise to check on his condition. Just be patient and let him rest.”

“Thank you, Vellore…” said Teagan, at which she bowed her head before making for the door.

_ Curses…  _ Everil cast her eyes upon the floor, hands closed into tight fists. There it was again. Powerlessness. An all too familiar feeling she despised. 

The bann easily noticed the tension on her shoulders. “You look tired... Perhaps you should go to sleep. Some rest would—“

“No,” she cut in, a little too forcefully. “I’m staying with him.”

He nodded in understanding, resting a hand on her shoulder in a reassuring gesture that did nothing to make her feel better. “I will post a soldier in the hall. Send for me or one of the servants if you need anything.” 

“Thank you...”

Teagan gave Alistair one last, worried glance and stepped out of the chamber, leaving her alone with him. With shoulders slumped and a heavy heart, she took off her gloves and pulled up a chair to sit next to him. She gently placed her hands over his, grip tightening upon noticing just how cold his fingers were.

“I’m sorry… This is all my fault,” she murmured miserably, the pressure in her chest almost suffocating. “Had I been more careful… You wouldn’t have… You…” A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another, and another. She just couldn’t fathom continuing on without him by her side. Without his shoulder to lean on or his arms to hold her through the toughest times. She needed his smile, his silly jokes, and his calming voice whenever he said everything would be all right. And her heart broke as she whimpered and wept, terrified by the very thought of losing him. 

_ I love him...  _ she finally admitted to herself, the sobs racking her body.  _ Maker, I love him so much… _

“Alistair…” Everil pleadingly choked out his name, leaning over to rest her forehead over their hands. “You have to fight… I need you… Please… don't leave me…"

The rest of the night dragged on, her gentle crying filling the silence in the room until her own exhaustion claimed her.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Cold, ominous darkness surrounded him as he took tentative steps through towering walls. It was difficult to see past a few feet, but Alistair easily recognized the baren bones of Ostagar as black shadows hauntingly shifted over them like ghosts in the night. He could hear the clash of metal resounding in the distance, joined by men’s battle cries and the roaring of monsters. He continued forward, following the noise through what he could tell was yet another nightmare. Gradually, the sounds of battle became louder, the shadows stretching upwards, cast by the fires raging on the battlefield. 

Fear gripped him as Alistair emerged from the sidelines, Grey Warden armor reflecting the glare of the burning ground and corpses before him. Through the blazes, he could see the king’s soldiers swinging their blades at the darkspawn. But one by one they were run through by jagged swords and their limbs were mercilessly torn from their bodies as they screamed in agony. His jaw tensed, unable to tear his eyes away, his stomach twisting at their gruesome deaths.

A familiar, monstrous roar was heard over the wails, shaking him to the core. Alistair's head snapped in its direction just as a body came flying from behind the flames, landing like a rag doll at his feet and splattering blood over the dirt. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned his gaze to it and his heart wrenched upon seeing who it was. 

King Cailan’s lifeless eyes stared back at him, red oozing from his open mouth. His armor was warped and his torso crushed as if something had squeezed him to death like a tin can. Alistair took a step back, horrified. 

They may have never had a relationship as brothers, but he’d been the only other person with whom he'd shared a connection through his father’s blood. He’d related to him in his admiration towards Grey Wardens and their tales. And he’d respected him as his king and as the man who'd supported their cause from the very beginning, regardless of his naive quest for fame and glory. With all of his faults, Cailan hadn't deserved to die like this, left behind and betrayed by his own wife's father.

An angry cry drew his attention to a man a distance away. The leader he followed blindly before his death. Alistair wanted to look away, to not witness how he died. But the archdemon relentlessly whispered in his mind, making him see what happened that fateful night through its many eyes.

He watched Duncan charge at the same ogre that killed their king, pure rage driving him on. He leaped and buried his blades up its chest, climbing it as if it were a mighty mountain. Growling in anguish, he twisted a dagger over its heart, blood gushing out of it until the monster dropped heavily onto the ground. Life left its soulless body as the Warden-Commander sat up atop it, breathing heavily and reaching for an injury on his side.

Bloodied and visibly exhausted, Duncan turned his eyes to the sky and stared. Alistair followed his line of vision to the Tower of Ishal, where the beacon burned brightly against the darkness of the night.  _ Maker, no…  _ His attention returned to his former leader, utterly powerless to help him in a memory that wasn't his.  _ Maker, I don’t want to see this... _

But it was then that he witnessed Duncan’s shoulders slump when he realized the treachery that had doomed them all. His commander stopped fighting. Despondent and angry as a hurlock came charging at him with its axe. 

“No!” Alistair reacted and reached for him in a pointless attempt to save him. But the hurlock struck, and he could only stare in horror as his father figure’s head was severed from his body. His shaking hand was still outstretched when Duncan's corpse fell on a pool of its own blood and his head rolled towards him. And he couldn’t think. Couldn’t see anything past those dead eyes that looked back at him, devoid of the warmth and strength they once held. The sight brought back his grief, his pain. And the searing anger he felt towards the man who’d left them to die.

The roar of a dragon rumbled through the sky like a crack of thunder, drawing his stunned gaze. A great beast flew over him, red scales shimmering from the flames below. It soared towards the Tower of Ishal and easily broke into its walls while more darkspawn killed what was left of the soldiers around him. The men’s screams filled his ears in a maddening crescendo until each one was silenced by the enemy. And then there was nothing but death left as the howling wind flapped Ferelden’s broken banner. It stood like a tombstone over the corpses, the bodies lying in pieces and left to rot amidst the frigid ruins.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Alistair's eyes snapped open and he instantly regretted it when sunlight sent needles through his skull. He weakly reached for his head, groaning softly and feeling ill.  _ Ugh… Damn that bastard for making me see that… _

Swallowing a few times, he noticed a bitter taste clinging to his tongue, hinted with honey and grass. And he became aware of the burning pain on his left flank—as if the muscles had been torn apart and put back together again. Memories flooded him, reminding him of the same amber eyes and crimson scales from his nightmare. He fought through the pain and sat up, breathing heavily. Then his heart's erratic beating slowed gradually when he scanned the familiar room, confusion replacing the momentary panic. _Where am I…?_

A quiet whimper pulled his gaze to the side of his bed, then his features softened at what he saw. Everil was seated in a chair, resting her head on the mattress and over folded arms. Chocolate locks framed her flushed, dirt-stained cheeks as she slumbered, breathing softly through parted lips. There were dark circles under her eyes, which he noticed with slight concern. She looked drained and deceptively vulnerable while lying there, seemingly defenseless. 

A small smile spread over his lips and he carefully ran his fingers through her hair. “Everil...” he called groggily, throat still a little raw.

She stirred, mumbling incoherently. Then her eyes slowly opened and trailed up to his face, dazed and half-asleep. Incredulity crossed over her features before realization settled in, her gaze widening in disbelief.

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Hey…”

“Thank the Maker!” Everil shot up and threw her arms around his neck, drawing a slight grunt out of him. “Ah! I-I’m sorry!” She tried to pull away but he gently grabbed her arm.

His brow furrowed, now able to see the large, dried bloodstain covering the front of her armor. “Whose blood is that? Are you all right?”

She blinked and smiled helplessly. He was the one who’d been injured and yet here he was, worrying about her. “It’s yours…” she replied quietly, taking a seat at the edge of the mattress.

His eyebrows rose. “Mine? Was it... that bad? How long was I out?”

She anxiously licked her lips. “You were out for two days…”

"Oh…” he muttered uncomfortably and glanced about the room. “Where are we?”

“We’re in Redcliffe Castle. We brought you here after the battle."

Alistair paused, trying to make sense of things. “Does... that mean you were able to defeat Flemeth?”

“Barely… but yes.”

“Wow… That means we may have what it takes to kill the archdemon, after all.” 

Everil chuckled weakly. “I don't know… Flemeth didn't have an army of angry monsters following her every whim.” 

"Aww…” he chortled. “And here I thought I was the pessimist between the two of us."

Relieved beyond belief, Everil's smile broadened, his laughter once again nearly making her weep with joy. After nearly losing him, she wanted nothing but to be with him for as long as possible. And so intense was the need to tell him how she felt, how deep her feelings for him truly were, that she didn’t care if the timing wasn’t perfect. The Grey Warden summoned her courage, awkwardly taking his hand in hers. “Alistair…”

“Yes…?” His expression sobered and their eyes met. 

“I…” She wore her bottom lip and bashfully turned her gaze away, cheeks a rosy shade of pink. “I… I—”

But the moment was broken when someone opened the door, startling them away from each other. “Andraste’s mercy, you’re finally awake!” Teagan walked in, followed by Vellore. “Somehow I knew you wouldn’t die so easily.”

"Heh… Well, apparently it’s not for lack of trying,” Alistair jested with a half-grin.

“So I see…” The bann approached him, pretending not to notice their joined hands.

“I must say, I’m impressed you’re even sitting up right now,” Vellore declared as Everil moved aside, allowing the woman to get closer and touch his forehead. “Hm… No fever.” She stepped back, curiously tilting her head. “You are a Grey Warden, yes?”

His brow creased at the question. “I am.”

“That may be the reason why you survived… Your curse may have just been a cure.” 

“So the taint saved my life? Now, there’s something you don't hear every day.”

“In a way, yes…” The old woman went to a nearby table and placed her bag over it, producing more herbs. “Your body is likely a bad place for that which causes infection. Nothing can survive in your bloodstream for long.”

“Ah… That's right. Lucky me,” he said with a humorless smile. “Does that mean I'm well enough to fight? I don't much care for lying around doing nothing when there's a Blight that needs stopping.”

She shook her head while crushing some plants in her mortar. “You were at death’s doorstep when you came here and it’s only been two days. While I understand you are feeling able thanks to my treatments, I would like to keep an eye on you for at least two more days.”

“Two more days...?” Alistair repeated with a troubled frown. “But—”

“No buts, Alistair.” 

“Huh?” His eyes went to Everil, who regarded him sternly. “B-But... We still have to get what we need and the trip to Orzammar is gonna take several days. You saw the Blight on the way here... We don't exactly have the luxury of time.”

She folded her arms, standing her ground. “I’ll take care of preparations while you rest. Besides, you won't be able to fight even if we were to set out right now.”

His nightmare replayed in his head as if triggered by her denial. Images of Duncan’s severed head and lifeless stare flashed in his mind, causing his chest to constrict as frustration quickly took over. He couldn't fail him. He couldn’t let his death be in vain. Now wasn’t the time to be weak and confined to a bed. People were dying out there and the Blight wouldn’t stop and wait for him. 

“No, I can still wield a sword,” he insisted, leaning forward towards her. “Please, you have to believe me.”

“Alistair, listen to her,” Teagan interjected.

She sighed, giving her head a shake. “Even if you were able to kill a genlock with your bare hands, I would still say no. I won’t risk you getting injured again in your weakened state.” 

Alistair pressed his lips together and inhaled, suddenly angered by how easily they questioned his ability to do his duty. “You may be leading us, but I'm also a Grey Warden...” he said, pinning her with a hard look. “I'm prepared to lay down my life in battle if it helps end the Blight. It’s my sworn duty, for Maker’s sake! You can’t just order me to sit here and ignore it!”

She blinked slowly, dumbfounded, and with a sunken heart at his uncharacteristic outburst. 

A sudden jab in Alistair’s sore side produced a pathetic yelp out of him, making him fold over in pain. “What was that for!” he snapped at Teagan through gritted teeth as the man withdrew his hand.

“Fine…" Everil said softly, trying to ignore the ache in her chest that he’d caused. “If you want to die so badly, then do whatever you want.” She stalked around the bed, picked up his damaged armor, and while her arms could barely carry it, left the room with her head held high. Meanwhile, Alistair watched her leave, unable to respond.

Vellore clicked her tongue, speaking under her breath. “Foolish lad…”

“Seriously… that hurt,” he told the bann as the pain gradually ebbed away.

“I should have struck you instead,” Teagan retorted angrily. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“What are you talking about?” 

Teagan resisted the urge to smack his own forehead at his idiocy. “You should have seen how worried she was when she brought you here. Each time I tried to get her to leave this room and rest, she refused. She was by your side the entire time you were unconscious, crying her heart out when she thought no one was looking, waiting for you. Or did you think she was still wearing that bloodied armor simply because it pleased her?”

His eyes went wide. “Oh…” 

Teagan continued, folding his arms while glaring disapprovingly at him, “And yet you tell her that you would foolishly throw your life away over your own, foolish pride. I don’t know what type of relationship you two have right now, but she clearly cares deeply about you. I dare say she even loves you, though now I cannot see why.”

Incredible guilt weighed over Alistair upon hearing just how far his foot had gone into his mouth. And weariness let itself be known as he mulled over his words. He was truly tired and weak, both physically and mentally. Weak enough to have lost control over his emotions and lashed out like a wounded animal at the only woman who'd ever seen him for who he was. The only one who cared for him as she did. For Maker’s sake, he’d never even seen her cry, not even after her family died. And yet she’d shed tears he clearly didn’t deserve. And she may actually love him? 

Alistair stared down at his fists, gripping the sheets over his lap, wondering if their feelings for each other had grown that much. If love was now drawing them closer to one another, or if it had been for a long time without them noticing. If he’d just been too afraid to admit it to himself and to her. 

After a short moment of silent contemplation and with Teagan’s scrutinizing gaze upon him, he discovered the answer. 

"Uugh…" he groaned, running a hand down his face. “I'm a damn idiot, Teagan… A true imbecile.”

“Yes…” Teagan sighed and smiled. “I couldn't agree more.”

  
  



	10. First Knight

⚜

  
  
  
  


_I_ _t was some time past noon and the sun_ shone high in the sky, giving the once dreary Redcliffe Village a more cheerful appearance. It was bustling with activity as the survivors continued on with their lives, enjoying the bit of normalcy that had been returned to them. Children played in the square, laughing and chasing each other as if nothing happened. Some fishermen worked on their nets, preparing them for their next catch while others sorted what they'd freshly caught. The scent of baking bread wafted from the huts, mixing with that of fresh fish. Not exactly the most appealing smell, but it was better than the stench of death and blood.

After having somewhat cleaned her armor, Everil was leading some of her companions through the village, stopping by a few shops for supplies. They were to get their equipment washed, fixed, and adjusted for colder weather and she was hoping to hit the road again as soon as Alistair’s health allowed it. 

The last conversation with him upset her, to say the least. She’d been worried to death about him over an injury he received while saving her life. And she’d felt responsible for placing him in danger when she should’ve seen those claws coming and avoided them altogether. Now, she wondered if her relationship with him had changed. If to him it was more important to risk it all for their duty than to be with her. _Fool... Of course, that should be more important. You're both Grey Wardens._

But she wanted to be selfish. To live as long as possible and be with him every waking moment. She only hoped that, in some form, he felt the same way.

“Are you all right?”

Everil looked at Leliana, who was worriedly staring at her. 

“Ah, yes… I am,” she replied, smiling a bit. She'd sent Wynne and Morrigan to obtain warm cloaks they could wear and replenish their lyrium potions. The rest were following her, trekking through the village and heading for the blacksmith. 

“I am glad Alistair is doing better. For a moment there I thought…” Leliana shook her head with a frown. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” 

Beside her, Zevran chuckled and grinned at them. “He had this goddess by his side the entire time. Of course, he’d recover.” 

“Flattery will not get you that bottle of wine, Zevran,” said the Warden, sending him a sideways smirk.

“Wine?” He casually laced his fingers behind his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my lady.” 

“Sure you don't,” she chuckled. Now wasn't the time to dwell on her romantic feelings for her fellow Warden. He was right. There were greater things to worry about as the Blight crawled closer to this very town. They needed to prepare and seek out their dwarven allies as soon as possible.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“So the Urn might be in a village to the west?” Isolde repeated Alistair’s words with hope in her voice, standing a distance from his bed. Teagan sat nearby, legs crossed as he leaned back in the same chair Everil used before.

“Yes. The plan is to go there on our way down from Orzammar after we recruit the dwarven forces against the Blight,” Alistair responded, holding a mug of tea Vellore made for him between his hands. Several empty plates were stacked on a tray beside him, waiting for the maids to retrieve them. He’d practically scarfed down the food he’d been brought—all thanks to his Grey Warden appetite and his body’s demand for nourishment after two days of unconsciousness.

“I see…” Teagan let out a soft breath, hands clasped over his lap. “I admit I don't much like the waiting part, but there is no other way around it. Your duty against the Blight takes precedence.”

“So long as you can save my husband…” Isolde said softly. 

The Warden regarded her with sympathy in his stare. It was easy to see the way her shoulders slumped with the weight of her husband's condition. He imagined it couldn't be easy to see the one you loved lying unresponsive for days on end, unable to help or wake them. It was likely just as difficult for Connor to see his father that way. Perhaps more so for him than his mother, considering he made a deal with a demon to help him. "Don’t worry, my lady. We’ll save him," he assured her confidently. "I owe the arl that much. And we'll need his voice against Loghain if we're to bring him to justice for what he's done to him, the king, and the Grey Wardens.”

"Well, Vellore said you should be well enough soon, so you’ll be back in the fight in no time." Teagan rose to his feet, a nostalgic smile forming over his face as he folded his arms. “Who would have thought? That the mud-covered boy I once knew would end up fighting to save us all.”

"Hah…" Alistair chuckled, humoring him. “You sound like an old man…”

“Well I am like your uncle, you know,” Teagan said with a laugh.

“Right… I sometimes forget we’re sort of related…” He awkwardly scratched his head. The bann was the brother of his father's late wife. Which technically did make him his and Arl Eamon's nephew by extension through marriage? He was pretty sure Queen Rowan wouldn't have been exactly thrilled to learn of his existence, however.

“We appreciate all you and your friends are doing for us, Alistair,” said Isolde, smiling a little. “You have given us hope… so I will make sure to help you, regardless of if you are able to find the Urn or not. I know my voice will not carry as well as my husband’s, but I shall try either way.”

“Thank you, my lady…”

“At any rate, we should probably let you rest. We'll see you in the morning." Teagan gestured for Isolde to follow him before both of them left the room.

Now alone, he curiously gazed down at his torso and lifted a corner of his shirt. The healer had removed the bandages before her departure, revealing the scars on his side and over his ribs. Thankfully they weren’t as bad as he’d expected, but he could only imagine how serious his injuries must have been before Wynne healed him. 

Without even thinking, he’d nearly sacrificed himself for Everil—damn the consequences. “Maker... I can't imagine how she felt… I have to make it right somehow…” he muttered to himself, once again feeling like an idiot for having spoken to her the way he did before she left. He sighed and took a sip from his tea, grimacing at the bitter taste. “Ugh, disgusting…”

A light knock drew his curious stare from the drink and to the door. “Come in...” he called, then someone he hadn’t expected to see stepped inside. He arched an eyebrow at her. “What are you doing here? Did you come to poke fun at how your mother almost sliced me in two?”

"Hmph..." Morrigan strode casually towards him and lifted her chin, resting a hand over her hip. "I only came to see with my very eyes if you truly survived. Although 'tis difficult not to comment on how incredibly foolish ‘twas of you to get in the way of her claws.”

“Well, I did survive. Which comes with a bonus for me, because I get to see the disappointed look on your face."

Her eyes darkened, narrowing to slits.

"Hah, and there it is! Yes. Totally worth it," he taunted, pointing a finger at her with a triumphant snicker.

She moodily swatted at his hand, at which he chuckled in amusement, completely ignoring her dirty glare. Alistair then took a drink, making a face at the bitterness before glancing her way. "I thought you and the others had gone to prepare for our journey to Orzammar. How come you're not with them?" 

"I was… Your fellow Grey Warden decided it would be a good idea to send me and the Circle mage on an errand. So I quickly did my bidding and returned.” Her nose curled as if she'd smelled something rotten. "I cannot stand that preachy, old hag...”

“You can't stand anyone, Morrigan.”

“...this is true.”

An awkward silence followed. The two only ever yelled at or insulted each other so this was the longest they’d gone without arguing.

And he found it very uncomfortable.

"So..." Alistair cleared his throat. "You're handling your mother's death pretty well."

Morrigan scoffed, unconcerned. “She sought to take over my body. Of course, I will shed no tears over her passing. Still, like I told the other Warden, I doubt she is gone for good.”

“That’s… reassuring.”

“‘Twill take her a long time to recover... So she will not be an immediate threat to any of us, for now.” She scrutinized him for a moment. He appeared much better than the half-dead shape he was in before, if only just physically worn down. She found herself wondering how it was possible for him to have recovered this fast. But what puzzled her the most was the hint of relief she felt upon knowing the idiot wasn’t dead. 

Alistair didn’t notice the irritated look she sent him, his eyes over the sheets covering his legs. “Do you think she'll chase after you again when she comes back?” 

“Without a doubt,” she huffed. “But to her misfortune, she taught me well. I will be ready when she returns.”

“Ah... Good.”

Satisfied with her visit, Morrigan spun about and made to leave. “Well, I am off to my room now. I know ‘tis impossible for you, but do try not to do anything stupid while we’re gone.”

Alistair tiredly watched the door close behind her. He stared at it for a moment, blinking a few times. “That was strange…” Had she really come to check on him? He hadn’t thought she would even care. He shrugged, deciding not to dwell on the witch’s motives too much before downing the rest of the tea. Letting out another nauseated groan, he set the cup on the tray and carefully laid back down. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted.

After the last nightmare, he was almost afraid of going back to sleep. But the healer insisted he rest as much as possible if he didn’t want to end up stuck in bed for another day. So he quietly prayed to the Maker, hoping against hope that whatever bad dream the archdemon had in store for him wouldn’t be another one about Ostagar.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

It was nightfall by the time Everil and her party were done preparing for their trip. They ate and went their separate ways, each one returning to their own rooms in the castle, except for her. She had gone to check on her fellow Warden and found him sleeping soundly under the covers. Something she’d been thankful for, considering she hadn’t felt ready to talk to him after what happened.

A fireplace burned in her chosen chamber, spreading its warmth inside the cold stone walls. The cool breeze flowing in from a window made the red curtains sway, the silence almost too relaxing. She was reorganizing her bag over the bed when a yawn interrupted her, causing her eyes to water before she rubbed them with a fist. With all the worrying, she’d only slept a few hours over the last two days. And sleeping on a chair wasn’t exactly the most comfortable and restful thing to do. At least tonight she’d be able to sleep better, provided the bad dreams allowed her to.

A whine had her chuckling at Bjorn, who was lying on a rug by the fire. “It’s been a long couple of days, huh, boy?” 

The dog barked in response.

Still smiling, Everil glanced at the white, long-sleeved nightgown given to her by one of the servants. She was itching to get out of her armor and into something breathable again. A bath, however, was her top priority. She absently scratched her arm at the thought, the dried blood and sweat still clinging to her body making her feel utterly disgusting. Thankfully, the same servant who kindly provided her with something else to wear had also prepared her a nice, hot tub.

After stripping, she slid into the deliciously warm waters, letting out a blissful sigh as her tense, aching muscles finally relaxed. She reached for the small table beside her and grabbed the washrag to scrub the grime off her skin. The scent of lavender graced her nose, further lifting her spirits in spite of how tired she was. Oh, how she’d missed being able to bathe like this every day, instead of having to use tiny streams and cold lakes. 

She was once one of the privileged, with clean clothes, fresh baths, and daily meals in a lavish castle. Now, she wandered through the lands, camping out in the wilderness and eating only what they managed to hunt or whatever they carried with them along the way. It was humbling, to say the least, and it gave her a completely different perspective on how the commoners lived their lives every day.

Thoughts of her family drifted to her weary mind as she stood and stepped out of the tub. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland had been the type of rulers who cared for their people, but they likely never knew what it was like to spend a day in their shoes. She wondered if they would be proud of her. Of what she accomplished thus far with the help of so many of the common folk.

Feeling refreshed, Everil threw on the gown and tied the long cord over her chest. She smiled wistfully, moving to the dresser by the fire and standing before the mirror. Lithe fingers combed through her hair, undoing some of the knots as she reminisced about their loving faces.

A knock yanked her from that lonesome reverie, her head craning in its direction. “Coming…” Everil called and curiously sauntered to the door, the floor chilling her bare feet. _Who could it be at this hour? I barely found a servant on my way here…_ She opened it, expecting the bann or someone else from her party, but to her surprise, it was him.

“Alistair...?” She blinked, keeping her voice down. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I… Uh… I need to talk to you,” he stammered awkwardly, his tone just as soft. 

Everil frowned, relieved to see him up and moving but still hesitant to face him. “Can’t it wait until morning? You should be resting...”

“I promise I’m feeling much better now…” He anxiously gazed at his feet, wringing his hands while pleading to her. “May I come in? Please?”

“Very well…” she sighed defeatedly and moved aside. “But the moment I notice anything bothering you, I'm sending you straight back to bed.”

“Yes, right...” He walked in, then saw her close the door. “The guard at my door told me you came by a while ago... How was the trip to the village?”

“Good. The smithy said he would have your armor and the rest of our equipment repaired and delivered to us by morning. We should be able to leave soon after, just like you wanted.” She strode past him, her words carrying an edge of irritation.

 _So she's still upset…_ Alistair thought guiltily, seeing her go to the only window in the room. Her back was to him, the soft breeze brushing over her flowing garb.

“That’s actually—” he croaked and awkwardly cleared his throat. “—what... What I wanted to speak with you about.” 

Her silence hung heavily over them as he padded towards her, the hound observing him from where he lay while sensing his nerves. Alistair stopped a step from her and swallowed. “I Uhm… I’m sorry for what I said. It was stupid of me.”

With a breath, Everil shot him a sideways glance and moodily folded her arms. She leaned against the windowsill, admiring the vastness of Lake Calenhad as the moon reflected over its surface. Another soft breeze gently picked up her dark locks, the silky waves caressing her face as they dried with the wind. For a second he thought she was too angry to talk. That she wouldn’t respond to his pathetic apology. But then her quiet voice reached him, barely loud enough for him to hear. “I thought I lost you…”

And the emotion in those words filled him with remorse. Maker, how foolish he'd been for not thinking about her feelings when he opened his mouth. How stupid it was of him to not see how much she'd been hurting over him.

"Everil…" He came closer and cupped her cheek with a calloused hand. That gentle touch destroyed what remained of her reins over her emotions, causing tears to roll freely from her eyes. And he utterly hated himself for being the source. "I'm sorry…" Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her to him as he sought to comfort her. "I'm so sorry... Please forgive me... "

After a pause, she shook her head, and weakly returned his embrace. "It was my fault... had I been more careful... You wouldn’t have—”

"No..." he interjected, resting his stubbled chin atop her head. "There was no way you could've predicted what happened. Or are you going to tell me that you’ve fought a scary old witch-dragon thing before? Because now that I think of it, I'd probably believe you."

She let out a half-hearted chuckle, muffled by his shirt. “No… I haven’t..."

“See? You have nothing to blame yourself for…” Alistair withdrew slowly, gently lifting her chin until their eyes met. “Besides… If I had to sacrifice myself for you again, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

“What…?” Her brow creased in puzzlement. "But, w-why...?"

"Because I simply can't imagine myself without you… Not ever." He intently searched her sky-blue pools, thumbs carefully wiping tears from her face. “I love you, Everil… More than anything.”

Happiness spread through her heart as she stared at his handsome features, her worries and sadness vanishing into nothingness. She hadn't realized how long she waited for him to say those words. To know that what they felt for each other was real and true. “I…" she choked out, smiling brightly through her weeping. "I love you too…"

"Hmm…" Alistair leaned down, their noses touching as his own heartbeat with joy. "You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say it..." And he kissed her. Slowly, gently, until her lips parted for him, granting him a drink from her well as she too sought a satiate her thirst. His tongue leisurely explored her, waltzing with hers as she sighed blissfully. Her warmth and delicious moisture gradually coated his senses, saturating them before she became all he could taste, smell, and feel. 

"Hm..." He released a hot breath, kissing her more passionately as his hands wandered to her hips. His teeth nibbled on her bottom lip and he sucked on her tongue, his boldness earning him a low, needy moan as she reciprocated the deed. Maker, how he craved to touch her and hold her bare curves against him. How he wanted to hear more of those moans as he pleasured her. The craving quickly grew too difficult to ignore and his self-control cracked like glass.

Heat surged through her as he greedily devoured her lips, stealing her breath away. She gasped for air and he veered down, trailing moist kisses along her jaw and to her neck before running his tongue over her raging pulse.

A groan escaped her, the wet sensation setting her body aflame in spite of the shivers quaking her. Laden with need, Everil rubbed her hips against his, noticing the hard bulge now pressing against her firm belly.

“I can't take it anymore...” he breathed into her skin, then hurriedly trailed his way up, seeking her mouth again. “I want you…” His tongue caressed her own once more as he spoke between sloppy kisses, his much deeper voice sending chills down her spine. "I want to spend the night with you..."

His request intensified the tingling sensation between her legs, the moisture in her sex telling her that she craved him too. Everil whimpered weakly, anxious, and maddeningly aroused. “Are... are you sure?"

Alistair pulled back enough to gaze at her through half-lidded eyes, the raw hunger in them causing her to throb. "I wanted it to be... special... for both of us," he panted, resting his forehead against hers. "But after what happened, I realized just how... fragile our time together truly is... That there might never be a special time or place for us, not while we're in the middle of all this…”

“Alistair…”

"I don't want to wait anymore..." He lightly kissed her again, barely able to contain himself. "I want my first time to be with you... In case one of us..."

She bit her lip, finding his bittersweet words both sad and endearing. Death was constantly looming over them, and it would only take one mistake for it to claim them one day. They had no choice but to enjoy each moment as if it were their last. To relish each other until the end. A smile spread over her face and she hoped he couldn’t hear the wild drumming of her heartbeat. “I agree…”

“Does that mean...?” he prompted expectantly.

“Yes…” she sensually whispered against his lips. “You can have me… all of me.”

And that was all he needed to hear for his restraint to shatter into a million pieces. Starving lips claimed hers once more, their tongues wrestling in a more clumsy, yet fervent kiss. They moaned, mouths still locked in a sensual dance as Alistair led her backward, their feet shuffling towards the bed waiting behind her. 

Dark hair showered over the pillow when he lay her down, her legs spreading for him as his body pinned hers to the mattress. That he was nervous was an understatement, this being his first time. But he focused on the way their tongues wrestled fervently, on how she buried her fingers into his hair, and on those firm breasts against his chest.

His hand slithered down her leg and up again, dragging the fabric of her gown to expose more of her flesh to his fingertips. Alistair huffed between kisses, absently grinding his pelvis against hers as pure instinct drove him. As he did, his erection stroked her aching parts, her underwear doing nothing to shield her from his cruel taunting. 

Everil whined in anticipation as his hand slid over her bare thigh and to her hip, leaving a sizzling trail that earned him a sensual moan. He shuddered with pent up desire, yearning to hear more of those lustful sounds. To please her into oblivion, regardless of his inexperience. Panting heavily, Alistair broke from their kiss and gazed at her clothes, suddenly seeing them as nothing but an annoying obstacle. His impatient fingers untied the ribbon keeping her gown in place while her lips brushed along his jaw, almost breaking his concentration as he worked. 

He pulled on the crisscrossed cord until it was no longer in his way, then moved to kneel between her legs. Nervous hands gently spread her clothes apart as he watched intently, swallowing thickly while slowly sliding the white wool over her pale shoulders. And then her chest lay bare and at his mercy, his eyes tracing the curve of her supple breasts as they rose and fell with every breath. He saw her shiver when the cool air graced her bosom, her pink, hard peaks beckoning him to touch them. To soothe them.

"Alistair...?” She called weakly, feeling vulnerable and insecure upon never having shown her body to any man before.

“So beautiful…” He lowered himself atop her, his mouth enveloping one of her firm nipples. A lustful moan escaped her as he sucked on the sensitive bud, sending electricity shooting straight to her core. She arched to him and whined when his tongue swept over the peak, flicking it as he cupped her other mound. More moans were his reward as he massaged, and fondled, and squeezed, her glazed stare locked with his as she watched him focus only on her. 

“Maker…” Everil mewled, loins aching for him as she squirmed beneath him. Sensing her need, he released her bosom and smirked, feeling braver than ever. He leaned back on his knees and pulled off his shirt, revealing sculpted abs to her while carelessly tossing away the piece of clothing. The light of the fire allowed her to see the angry scars on his torso, and she gulped, reaching for him. He rested a hand by her head and let her caress his chest, quivering under her delicate fingers. His muscles flexed where she touched, goosebumps rising in her wake before she worriedly traced his marks.

Seeing her concern, Alistair took her hand in his and tenderly kissed her palm. “Don’t worry, my dear…" he whispered while lowering himself upon her, purring against her jaw, “It doesn’t hurt as much anymore…”

“All right...” she said numbly before his mouth was on hers again, tongues sparring as her palms slid over his hard muscles and broad shoulders. Still locked in the kiss, Everil rolled them over, straddling his hips while he released a surprised grunt. Her mouth then traveled south to his pounding pulse and she ran her tongue over his jugular, making him shiver and gasp. Driven by her need, she absently moved her hips back and forth, her warm center stroking his imprisoned manhood and making him twitch as he groaned hungrily. 

His hands wandered up her legs, then up her rear, following her curves while attempting to take off her clothes. And she sat up to help him, pulling her gown all the way off. Her heart raced with anticipation, her guards dropping around her as she allowed him a full view of her nearly naked body. She felt him pulse beneath her sex at the sight, his reaction drawing a tiny chuckle out of her. “Like what you see?”

He squeezed her rear and groaned, “Very much…” 

Everil ran both hands up his chest as she went for another kiss, moaning when his pelvis bucked against her. Their tongues danced as she continued the subtle rock of her hips, her warm parts massaging him each time he kneaded her firm behind. They moaned and groaned and gasped into their kiss while her mind-numbing foreplay dragged on too long, the pressure in his groin rising until his patience evaporated.

She squealed when he rolled them over, then he took hold of her undergarment, pulling it down her hips before promptly ridding himself of it. Alistair spread her knees and knelt between her long legs as he untied the string on his trousers, seeking to release his manhood from its cage. Everil bit her lip and watched as he slid his pants off along with his breeches, anxious to see more of him. But she didn’t get a chance to get a good look at him, for his mouth was on hers again and he was already pressing against her sex. 

Leaning on his forearm, Alistair gripped himself and tried to find her entrance, the tip of his manhood instead touching her clit and making her whine impatiently. Now desperate, she reached between them and wrapped her fingers around him, drawing a surprised grunt from him while she shivered at his girth. She gulped and helped guide him between her wet folds until both of them found their way. Everil whined feebly when he entered her, painfully stretching her as his mouth muffled her cries. 

The new sensation drew a low, drawn-out moan out of him as she enveloped him, taking hold of him. He went deeper and deeper, shivering at how delicious she felt. Another whimper made him withdraw from their kiss to gaze upon her, brow furrowed worriedly at the discomfort painting her features.

She licked her lips, arms slithering over his shoulders. “I’m fine…”

“All right…” he whispered, tenderly kissing her temple before carefully sliding from within her. He drew back until he was almost out of her and deliberately slid in, eyes staring into hers as Everil whined quietly. Then he retracted and gradually glided into her moist folds once more, his movements gentle and uncertain as he allowed her some time for the ache to pass. Yet the slow drag was heaven, producing waves of pleasure while they discovered each other, exploring forbidden land as he buried himself in her over and over.

A guttural groan escaped him as her walls stroked his shaft with just the right pressure. “Maker… you feel so good…”

“Oh, so do you…” she moaned into his ear and he shuddered and thrust a little harder, earning a pleased squeal from her. Wet sounds came from where they were joined as he trailed along her depths, the noise and her sweet, musky scent saturating his senses. His mouth traveled along her throat as he moaned with her, the heat rising between them as sweat began to coat their skin. 

His thrusts were off tempo at first, the timing a little inconsistent, but gradually he found his rhythm. Her hands roamed his broad back, admiring the strength of his muscles as they shifted beneath her palms when he moved. Maker how she longed for more of him. For all of him. She whimpered and bit her lip as her legs circled him and her hips clumsily rocked to his in a silent request. And he promptly obliged, thrusting faster into her and shattering her ability to think as her moans grew louder.

“Hrm…” Alistair cupped one of her mounds, fondling it in lazy circles, then pinching her nipple while she squealed as her pelvis bucked to meet his. And he wanted nothing but to pleasure her more. To hear more of that sensual voice of hers. So he adjusted his legs, slightly propped up her bottom and plunged harder into her at a different angle. The change instantly got him what he wanted, and more as Everil cried out his name. At the rapid beat of a drum, he hit that sweet spot within her, hard and deep as slapping sounds joined her passionate screams. 

“Oh, Maker! Oh, Maker!” Everil chanted ardently as she clung to him, fingernails digging into his back as the coil in her core tensed, ready to snap.

Her tightening walls and the maddening friction were quickly reeling him towards the precipice, the pressure building to the breaking point. He clenched his jaw and grabbed on to the bedsheets, willing himself to hold in his climax for her. But he didn't have to wait long. 

Three hard pumps sent her plummeting over the edge and Everil screamed, intense pleasure sweeping her away. Her throbbing insides dragged him along with her and he let out a strangled cry as his warm seed spilled into her. Her loins greedily drank his offering, pulsing around him as she spasmed beneath him.

He continued to slide in and out of her now soaked folds, riding the electrifying waves until they gradually ebbed away. For a long moment, they remained in each other's arms, struggling to catch their breaths, blissfully numb. Then Alistair nuzzled the crook of her neck and released a heavy sigh.

“Hmm, tell me something…” Everil tilted her head, enjoying the gentle kisses he was lovingly sprinkling along the side of her throat. 

“What, love…?” 

“Uhm…” Her racing heart fluttered at the endearment. “Where does a Templar… learn how to do that?”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Not at the Chantry... According to the sisters, I should have been struck by lighting by now…”

“Is that so…? I thought it was you doing that…”

He laughed a little and carefully leaned up to look over her sweat-streaked features. Her bangs were clinging to her face, framing her blushing skin. He smiled and softly caressed her cheek, the earlier hunger in his stare replaced by gentle tenderness. “I love you…”

“I love you too…” she murmured, closing her eyes as he kissed her lips. Yes, she hadn’t been this happy before. No one had ever made her feel the way he did. And she found herself wishing for this moment to never end. To remain in this small piece of paradise together with him, forever.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Something moist lapping at his cheek brought Alistair out from his slumber and his eyes slowly opened to see the wide, black nose of a dog. He stared at it with a confused expression, his mind still clouded with sleep. Then its large tongue licked his face again, drawing a slight groan out of him while finally reminding him of where he was. “You were here the entire time…?” he muttered groggily, gently petting his head with a lopsided smirk. “Hopefully you’re not smart enough to be traumatized by what you saw last night.”

Bjorn whined with a questioning tilt of his head.

“Heh... I guess we don't have to worry about you, after all.” Alistair scratched behind the hound’s ear, then lovingly gazed at the woman still sleeping beside him. Her head lay upon his breast, an arm limp across his torso as he held her. She mumbled incoherently, her face scrunched up while she dreamt. The nightmares were no doubt worse than his, the taint still new in her blood. He brushed her hair, sympathy in his stare. “Everil...”

“Hmm…?” Everil stirred awake, blinking in numb puzzlement, the dreams so vivid that it took some time for her mind to adjust to reality. She craned her head up to gaze at him, slightly dazed yet visibly better rested than the day before.

“Good morning...” Alistair murmured while softly stroking her arm, the feather-like is touch sending shivers down her spine.

“Morning…” she purred and laid back down, snuggling against him.

Careful fingers continued to comb through her wavy locks. “Shouldn’t we be getting out of bed?”

“In a minute… Not looking forward to the next trip…”

“Oh, come on... I’m sure a walk through the freezing mountains won’t be so bad. Especially while listening to our little party chat about how we slept together last night.”

She lifted her head to look at him. “You think they heard us?” 

“The walls in the castle aren’t as thick as they seem, you know. That, and you were pretty loud,” he teased, grinning proudly while twirling a lock of her hair. 

“I was…?” Her face heated up in shame at having sung an entire repertoire to the whole household. She huffed, completely failing to hide the embarrassment behind her pride. “Well, if they say anything, I'll feed them to the darkspawn.” 

“Aww... See? This is why I love you...” Alistair chuckled, rolling onto his side as he embraced her. He tenderly kissed her forehead and his features softened as he observed her flushed face, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So… what now? Where do we go from here?”

The question made her cling to him, holding him tightly. She nuzzled his chest, basking in his soothing presence while taking in his masculine scent. There was no way she’d let go of him now. “We stay together… no matter what happens.”

“Right… I can handle that, I hope…” he replied quietly into her dark tresses. 

His entire naked body was pressed against her own and she could feel the contour of his muscles and his warmth. And Everil bit her lip, ignoring the lingering soreness from her lost maidenhood as the way his manhood brushed against her thigh rekindled her arousal. Breathing softly, she sprinkled gentle kisses over his pecs, earning a quiet moan from him.

“Hrmm… I wish we had a bit more time…” he uttered, the rough edge back in his voice as his fingertips trailed along her bare back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

Everil shifted to gaze up at him and his amber eyes caught hers, staring intently into them. Her heartbeat quickened, finding herself entranced by his stare before he slowly leaned over to lightly press his lips to hers. She sighed, her hands sliding up his chest as she whispered, “Perhaps we do…”

With a low, needy moan, he kissed her, deeply, passionately. He explored her mouth with his tongue as she did his, thirsty for each other once more. And he rolled her onto her back, pinning her down as her arms slithered around his neck. 

But just as he got between her legs, several knocks on the door instantly shattered the moment. 

Alistair groaned moodily and broke away from their kiss, plopping his face into her pillow and releasing a frustrated sigh. “Or not…” 

More knocks came, this time more insistent.

“I should probably get that...” she breathed in disappointment. 

He reluctantly let go of her, allowing her to slide off the bed while sitting up with a huff. After adjusting the sheets over his legs, he took a pillow and covered his still slightly erect manhood with it, all the while staring intently at her nude body. His eyes followed her tempting curves, traveling down to her perfectly rounded backside as she bent over to pick up her clothing from the floor. 

She threw on her gown as another knock sounded out, followed by Teagan’s voice. “Lady Everil? Are you in there?"

“Hold a moment.” Everil quickly tied the cord over her chest to ensure her bosom was covered. She adjusted her hair, trying to at least look somewhat presentable. Her feet then took her to the door and she opened it, revealing an alarmed Teagan. “What’s wrong?” she asked, frowning worriedly.

“I went to see Alistair and he wasn't in his room. Have you—” He looked past her shoulder, spotting the man currently waving at him from her bed.

“Uh…” His gaze shifted to her, promptly taking notice of her somewhat tousled hair and flushed cheeks. 

“Did you need me for something, Teagan?” Alistair asked casually, laughing inwardly at the awkward look he was giving them. 

“Uhm, no… I just…” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to see how you were doing, but obviously you’re feeling better.”

"Yes, I am. Better than ever.” Alistair gave Everil a pointed look, to which she responded with a playful roll of her eyes and a shake of her head.

"Erm, glad to hear it!"

She regarded the bann, going straight to business and drawing the poor man's attention. “Bann Teagan, has the blacksmith delivered a package for us?”

“He may have… I believe some townsmen were helping Isolde’s maid carry something from the village.” 

“Good…" Everil gave a firm nod, then turned to Alistair. “Vellore said you should stay here for another day. Are you certain you’ll be all right if we travel today? It just seems too soon…"

“Yes, my dear… No need to worry,” he attempted to reassure her.

But she kept on a stern expression. “Swear to me, Alistair. Swear that you won't just fall off your horse on our way to Orzammar.”

“Erm… I swear I'm healed enough to do what needs to be done." He half-grinned, scratching the back of his head. “But I can't promise I won't fall off the horse… You know I just happen to have that kind of luck."

Everil sighed at his joke. “Very well... But I want you to be careful, and tell me the moment you start to feel unwell. Is that clear?"

“Of course,” he replied, giving her an adoring smile. Maker, she looked so beautiful... Standing there in her sleeping robe, hair still a mess, ordering him around with that no-nonsense look of hers.

Meanwhile, Teagan watched the exchange, feeling somewhat out of place. He cleared his throat again, the two Wardens returning their stares to him. “All right. I will ask the stableman to prepare your horses…” he said, then strode away and down the hall as she shut the door, once again addressing Alistair. “Your armor will probably be sent to your room…”

“All right, then I guess I should go get ready.” He climbed off the bed, his body in full display as he sought his trousers. Everil glanced over his chiseled muscles, admiring him as he dressed. He threw on his shirt, then headed towards her, petting Bjorn as he passed him by. He paused before her, then softly kissed her lips. “I'll see you downstairs.” 

“Right…” Everil replied quietly before he left. Her door closed again and she gazed at her hound, seeing him watching her curiously. A light chuckle escaped the Warden as she approached him, kneeling to his level to scratch his ears. “I'm sorry about last night, boy… I suppose we'll have to do things a little differently from now on.”

Bjorn whined and licked her cheek, drawing another soft laugh from his mistress.


	11. To Honnleath

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ B _ _ y midday, the group was nearing  _ Sulcher’s Pass, a small clearing on the way north to the Dwarven kingdom. The Grey Wardens and their party were focused on the road, listening to nature as they traveled through a patch of pine trees. Soon, ruins of stone emerged from behind the brush as the vegetation parted before them. Crumbling remains from a time when Tevinter ruled over all of Thedas. 

A wagon with boxes laid out around it caught their attention as they entered the clearing, while near it stood a middle-aged man they assumed was the owner. He waved at them, calling for them as they approached, halting their horses. “Maker...” he said, seeing the emblem on their armor. “You’re Grey Wardens?”

“We are, yes. Do you need help?” Everil answered with a slight smile.

He anxiously scratched the back of his head. “Sort of… Have the lot o’ you seen a goat around ‘ere? The old girl got spooked and ran off.”

“I’m afraid we haven’t, ser…”

“Ah, well, I didn’t think you would’ve...” he sighed, briefly glancing at his wagon a few feet behind him. “Say… without that goat's help, I’ve a few too many things to carry on my own. There’s something ‘ere I don’t have a use for that may just come in handy to you Wardens… with the Blight and all. Would you be interested in taking it off my shoulders?”

“Uhm…” Alistair gave him a scrutinizing stare. “That depends… What is it?”

The man gestured for them to follow and the pair exchanged a look before dismounting. “Wait for us here,” Everil told the others.

Upon arriving at his merchandise, he produced a long, stone rod from one of the boxes, glowing blue symbols inscribed over it. He faced them, holding it with both hands. “This was given to me by a friend o’ mine to the east. He said it can be used to control a golem. Only, I don’t have the command phrase to use it.”

Everil folded her arms, surprised by the offer. The Dwarves once used golems in their wars. They were said to be formidable fighters, hard to bring down, and nearly immortal. But that was in ancient times when they ruled over a massive underground empire that once spanned all of Ferelden, and beyond. Before the darkspawn nearly annihilated them during the First Blight, massively shrinking their territory to just Orzammar. If there was a golem out there, anyone who owned it would have the advantage in any battle. 

“Why is it you want to do away with it?” she asked. “Something like that would probably be useful to you.”

“I’m just a merchant… it would go to waste in my hands. And I’m not chargin’ you anything since this would be a favor to me.” A grin spread over his chapped lips. “I read once that so long as you’ve the rod, it will be forced to obey you. It won’t be able to hurt anyone… unless you tell it to.”

“Well… I can’t say it would be too terrible an idea to use such a weapon against the darkspawn…” Alistair said, hands on his hips. “Where would we find this golem?”

“It’s been sitting in a little town called Honnleath, or at least that’s what I was told.”

“I would like to see it,” Everil said to Alistair. 

He nodded. “I know the place. Arl Eamon owns those lands.”

She took the rod from the merchant, strapped it to her back, and gave him a quick thank you before both Wardens returned to their horses. They mounted before Everil regarded their companions. “Change of plans. We have a small errand to run.”

“An errand?” Morrigan questioned with slight irritation. “Have we not wasted enough time as it is? Mostly thanks to Alistair’s foolish encounter with a dragon’s claws.” 

He sent a subtle glare her way. “A dragon we had to fight to save your skin, by the way. So I guess that makes it your fault too.”

Morrigan glowered at him. “You—”

“Everil…” He ignored her, shifting his attention away from the witch. “Uhm… I’ll lead the way this time. I know a shortcut to the village, so I can get us there faster.”

She nodded, then watched him veer his horse towards another thicket ahead. Her eyes settled over his back as she and the others followed him. She couldn’t quite place it, but lately, he seemed much more assertive and sure of himself. Perhaps due to their conversation after meeting his sister. 

A smile tugged at her lips, realizing she liked this side of him. 

They cut through the woods this time, occasionally ducking to avoid the hanging branches. The area was peacefully tranquil safe for the occasional chirping of the birds and the flapping of their wings. A shame such place would soon be overtaken by the Blight.

“My lady, I have a question, if you will indulge me,” came Zevran’s inquisitive voice.

Everil glanced at him. “Yes?”

“We have fought our fair share of these... darkspawn. But I don’t think I quite understand what it is that makes this a Blight. Is it that storm we saw on the way to Redcliffe?”

Before she could respond, Leliana cut in. “You’ve never heard the story behind the Blight? The Chantry speaks of it all the time.”

He smirked, lifting his nose while riding. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, my dear, but religion is not my forte. In fact, I’ve never set foot in a Chantry my entire life.” He paused and tapped his chin with a finger. “Oh, wait… Yes, I have. I killed a sister in one once.”

“A sister?” she gasped. “Why would you do such a thing?” 

The elf shrugged. “She’d been meddling in politics in Antiva... Sassing the wrong people. Your Chantry is not as pure as they pretend to be.”

Leliana shot him a judgy look. “Still… you murdered someone in one of the Maker’s homesteads...” 

“Like I said... religion: Not my forte.” He snickered wickedly, then returned his attention to his mistress. “At any rate… What makes this all so different? Don’t darkspawn occasionally raid villages down here?”

“The difference is that a tainted god commands them during a Blight, turning small groups into a horde that tramples the lands.” She spun her head to sullenly gaze at him. "The tainted god is called an Archdemon. And this one has gathered an army large enough to defeat the king's soldiers in Ostagar. If we don't stop it soon, the darkspawn and their taint will spread throughout all of Ferelden."

Bewildered eyes went from her to the other Warden, finally seeing the magnitude of their task. Just what had he gotten himself into? He was no hero. He did what he wanted and got what he wanted—of course within the constraints of his servitude to the Crows. Now, he was traveling with a group of people he barely knew, fighting creatures he knew close to nothing about. And he was free. Free to make that choice without following someone else’s motivations. Yet it didn’t feel wrong to help. It felt as if he had a purpose now. One greater than himself. 

Zevran put on a lopsided smile. “I suppose it would feel better to die fighting for your little country than to die at the hands of a Crow.”

“You know…” Alistair glanced over his shoulder at the elf. “I think that’s the first time I didn’t find something you said incredibly annoying.”

“See? I told you making love to a ravaging woman would lighten your mood.”

“Aaand here we go… I knew it wouldn't take long,” Alistair sighed, hanging his head.

“Zevran…" Everil warned, a tint of red spreading over her cheeks.

“What? You two didn't seem to care about us hearing you last night, despite knowing we were all just down the hall. Don't you think it's a little late for modesty?”

She avoided his gaze in embarrassment, yet stubbornness remained on her face. Meanwhile, Wynne and Leliana sent them knowing smiles while Morrigan and Sten remained completely indifferent.

Alistair ran a hand over his face. “Maker…”

“Ah, yes, Him. Heard his name many times too.” Zevran grinned wickedly at the female Warden. “I never thought you'd be the religious sort, my lady.”

Everil released a frustrated breath, resisting the urge to reach out and smack the grin off the elf's face. “Could we change the subject, please?”

“You Fereldans are so finicky when it comes to such matters… So prudish.” Zevran chuckled. “It's almost too easy to make you blush.”

A rustle in the bushes ahead silenced them as their horses came to a stop. They were reaching for their weapons when a young boy stumbled out from the brush, his clothes torn and bloodied. “H-Help...!” he called in anguish.

Everil slid off her horse just as he fell to the ground, rushing to his side. “Hey!” She knelt over him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Who did this? What happened to you?"

“H-Help… the village…” he choked out through ragged coughs and she stared sadly as he stopped breathing. She clenched her teeth, anger rising within her. This boy was barely a man, his features still those of a child. Clicking her tongue, she quickly rose and ran for her horse, climbing it without a word. 

As if knowing what she was thinking, Alistair immediately kicked his mount into motion, while she and the others followed suit. They moved fast through the woods and towards their destination, the trees a blur as familiar voices whispered in her mind. 

There were darkspawn nearby.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

A small village nestled atop a hill past the tree line came into view, its huts ablaze as a cloud of ash and smoke darkened the skies. The group hurried to the gates and dismounted, arming themselves as darkspawn came charging. A genlock screeched, swinging at Everil. She deflected the attack with her blade, then slashed open its neck with her dagger. It fell, spraying blood into the air as the Warden engaged another. 

More enemies came at them as they made their way up the slope. Alistair's sword pierced a hurlock's chest, then cut another's leg, dropping it on its knees before swinging at its head. A few steps beside him, Leliana released a string of arrows, downing three creatures while Sten rushed a group with a mighty swipe of his sword. 

“Why are they running towards us?” Wynne shouted above the gurgling cries of the monsters being cut down.

Everil plucked her weapon from a hurlock’s torso and gazed ahead, seeing a few more running in their direction. Though instead of attacking them, they seemed to be fleeing from something. She fell another that got too close and shouted at the others, “Something is driving them away! Come on!”

They dashed up the rest of the way, through flaming rubble, turning a corner into the village square. The coppery scent of blood mixed with burning wood and smoke as human corpses lay scattered all around them, torn to pieces to the point it was hard to tell which body part was what. Darkspawn bodies also peppered the streets, twisted and torn apart as stragglers continued their retreat from whatever spooked them. 

In the middle of all the death was a little girl, seemingly unscathed safe for the soot staining her brown dress. A cat was held securely in her arms, also unharmed, staring at them with bright yellow eyes. There were more people behind her, huddled in some sort of magical protection. Darkspawn lay dead in a heap at the foot of their shield, appearing to have been thrown against it. 

“Kill the rest!” Everil commanded the others as she ran to her, dropping on a knee. “Are you all right?”

The girl nodded blankly.

“Grey Warden!”

She looked past her to a man behind the barrier. His hands were up against it as the power flowed through him, which told her he was the mage casting it. “Back away from her! Quickly!” he said in alarm. 

Puzzled, the Warden stood as her companions came to stand near her, having defeated the few darkspawn trying to escape. She turned to their healer. “Wynne, see to the child.” 

“Understood.” The old mage knelt next to the girl, gently taking her hand. “It’s all right now, darling. We are here to help.”

Stepping around the two, Everil and the rest of the party neared the barrier. “What’s happening here? Why did the darkspawn flee?”

“M-My name is Matthias… And that’s my daughter... Amelia,” he replied shakily. “She’s not what she appears... I beg you… Please help her!”

“What are you talking about?” She glanced briefly at the child as Wynne gently stroked her arm, reassuring her. “She seems fine to me. Why don’t you lower your shields so that we may talk?”

“You don't understand! That cat’s a demon that has my daughter under some spell! It will try to kill my people if I do that!”

A scream caused them to spin about as Wynne was lifted and paralyzed by a purple bolt of light. It shook her violently, overtaking her body from within. And very slowly, she cast her once clear-blue eyes upon them, now devoid of the warmth they once carried.

“Wynne!” Everil made to run to them but was stopped by a woman’s voice.

_ “I wouldn't get closer if I were you, mortal.”  _ The cat’s eyes glowed red, piercing into their very souls. 

“So you’re the reason the darkspawn were fleeing the village…” Alistair muttered from beside her, glaring at the animal.

“What’s a demon doing here? Is that girl a mage?” Everil asked over her shoulder at the child’s father.

He shook his head. “No! She—” 

The demon chuckled darkly.  _ “Foolish mortals... I have been here all along! Summoned and chained by Willhem the mage, the long-dead grandfather of this brat! Amelia simply awoke me from my slumber and begged me to save her little village.” _ The cat’s face twisted into a distorted snarl _. “And now it is done. And now she is mine.” _

Everil scowled, her gaze meeting its crimson stare. “Let them go.” 

_ “No,” _ it quipped.  _ “I am still tied to this village. This woman will help me break the seal and then I will use the child’s body to roam your world free of these shackles! And there is nothing you can do to stop me!" _

A surge of power erupted from the cat, enveloping Amelia and shooting outwards. The group shielded their eyes from it as it traveled through the village, seeking the bodies of both humans and darkspawn. It hopped from corpse to corpse, mending the broken limbs as the sickening sound of wet flesh joined in the demon’s laughter. Moans came from the ghouls as one by one they rose, their empty eyes set on them. 

_ What…  _ Everil pressed her lips into a line, gaze shifting over them, witnessing as their ashen hands picked up any weapon they could find. They carried swords, hammers, knives, axes, and wood, slowly crowding the area as they shambled towards them.

The demon laughed maniacally before Amelia grabbed Wynne’s wrist and ran, dragging her away towards one of the few huts not aflame.

“Wait!” Everil ran a few steps, only to be blocked by one of the undead. She backed away, eyes shifting between the enemies which were once the town’s people. Her heart ached with pity for them. They’d been killed by a darkspawn raid and now they were being used as pawns by a demon.  _ Why is it we’re always too late to save them? _

One tried to swing at her with its sword, completely missing her. She decapitated it, then deflected an axe from another coming at her from the side. She kicked its knee and it buckled before she struck in a diagonal, slicing off part of its head. It fell, but their numbers rapidly increased, emerging from fallen houses and adjacent streets, their ghastly groans and moans accompanied by the shuffling of their feet. 

Their unsteady walk soon turned into a trot as they charged, closing in on them from all sides. The Wardens and their companions engaged them, their blades sinking into flesh and clashing against theirs as the creatures clumsily struck at them. 

_ It's like Redcliffe all over again…  _ Everil gritted her teeth and brought down another ghoul before craning her head to the hut where Wynne was taken. She turned to Matthias. “Where’s the demon headed? Tell me quickly!”

“Underground!” he replied, too afraid still to put down the shield. “There’s a passage in the cellar that leads to my father’s laboratory!”

“Leliana, Bjorn! Come with me!” she called over the sounds of battle, then addressed her fellow Warden as he hit a corpse with his shield. “Alistair, you and the others stay here and help fend off these things! I’m going after Wynne!” 

He nodded. “Got it! Just watch yourself!”

“Right!” A corner of her lips curled up and she spun on her heel and made haste to the hut. Leliana and the hound followed. 

Alistair watched them go, then blocked a blade and parried it to the side. The edge of his shield hit the corpse’s face, but it only made it stumble. A hurlock and another villager shuffled to him, weapons raised. One hit his shield as he cut off the other’s arm, disarming it before shoving them off. He stabbed through one’s gut, but it didn’t even flinch, instead, grabbing for him. He grimaced and kicked it, retrieving his weapon before slicing off its head. 

The people behind them were the only ones left in the village, and he didn’t know how long their mage could hold up that barrier. They had to protect them until the demon controlling the corpses lay dead. He blocked another hit as two more undead tried to flank him. Using his shield, he hit one and stunned it, before his sword met its neck. Then he whirled around, using his gauntlet to punch the other. 

“All right, everyone!” Alistair yelled to the others in his party. “No matter what happens, let’s keep these things away from the villagers! Morrigan!”

The witch’s eyes switched from a burning ghoul over to him. 

“Ice them as they come in! We have to slow their advance as much as possible!”

Morrigan paused, slightly surprised by his commanding tone, then gave him a brief nod. She gripped her staff with both hands and faced the bulk of the horde of undead, summoning a freezing wave that swept over the first row of enemies. The ice encrusted their bodies, holding them in place as her companions ran in. 

“Never thought I would see the dead come back to life!” Zevran shouted from his side of the battlefield, swinging and breaking through their bodies with ease. One of those not frozen charged at the elf, attacking with its blade. Zevran dodged, sliced its head off, then kicked its body onto the ground. “Ten down!” he shouted, grinning towards the Grey Warden. 

Alistair gazed his way with a quirked brow, retrieving his blade from a ghoul’s chest. Movement from the corner of his eye prompted him to strike at another, severing its head. “Twelve!” he shouted.

Zevran downed a few more, weaving his way through a group. “Thirteen!”

“Fourteen!” Alistair shouted after falling two more.

Eventually, the two of them were fighting near each other, leaving a trail of bodies where they went. Alistair hit another ghoul with the pommel of his sword, shattering its skull before slashing through another one attacking from the side. And then the sound of crushing bones and shattering ice made the two look in Sten’s direction. 

Like a mighty twister of muscle and metal, the qunari swung his greatsword, releasing a savage roar. He took out multiple corpses at once, sending body parts flying and scattering everywhere. His piercing gray eyes went to another group and he rushed in, swinging and slicing through multiple more. Both Alistair and Zevran watched in awe as he easily decimated a portion of their opposition, completely unhindered by their numbers.

“How many was that?” Zevran asked numbly.

“Enough to make me want to stop counting,” Alistair replied while Sten sent the pair a severe glare, rotating his shoulders before resuming his killing spree. But no matter how many they killed, the ghouls kept coming. The demon’s sorcery returned, mending the undead and unleashing them upon them again and again.

“Seems like they enjoy punishment…” muttered the assassin, twirling his daggers as the enemies quickly surrounded them.

“Yeah…” Alistair agreed, also readying his sword for another round. “I hope Everil and Leliana kill that demon… and soon.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The two women hurried through the underground tunnel along with the hound. It was dark and quiet, with a few torches as their only source of light. They passed by empty, open cells, the floor covered in a thick layer of dust. Everil found herself wondering just what sort of man would have something like this hiding away in his cellar. But the name Willhem refreshed her memory.

He’d been a mage in service of the crown when Prince Maric took back Ferelden’s throne from the Orlesian Empire. It was known he had a short temper and an ego the size of a mountain. But he’d helped their king free the country, so he was respected across all circles of nobility in spite of his many flaws.

Soon they made it through the dark to a door and Everil carefully opened it, sword already in hand. On the other side was a large chamber, well lit by hearths of an unnatural source. They entered and the Warden’s eyes narrowed upon spotting the child at the center. Wynne was beside her, barely able to stand and with injuries over her body. Bjorn snarled at the cat, growling menacingly.

_ “So you followed me... How convenient.”  _ The feline’s gaze focused on its new guests.  _ “This woman is too frail to work the mechanisms in the seal that traps me. Here. You may have the useless wretch.”  _ An invisible force flung its captive, sending her flying across the room towards them. Everil quickly spread her arms, catching her and falling on her rear with a grunt.

“Wynne!” Leliana got on her knees beside them. 

Carefully, Everil laid the unconscious mage on her back, inspecting her worriedly. She placed a hand on her cheek, noticing the burns now marring her pale skin. Thankfully the injuries weren’t severe.

“You will pay for this, you foul creature!” Leliana snapped at it.

It only chuckled. _ “Come now. Perhaps we can reach an agreement without resorting to violence.” _

“An agreement, you say?” The Warden pushed herself to her feet, then took a step, angrily aiming her sword at the creature. “You are way past the bargaining point, demon.”

_ “What’s this? You wouldn't kill the child, now would you?” _

“The girl isn't possessed yet. All I have to do is kill the cat… or rather, kill you,” Everil threatened coolly.

The demon’s eyes flashed bright red at her words. _ “I still have control over her mind, mortal. She won't let you near me. Which means you will have to kill her to get to me or listen to what I offer.” _

"Tch…" Everil slowly lowered her weapon. “Fine. What is it you want?”

Leliana’s head shot up. “Evy, you couldn't possibly—”

She raised a hand, effectively silencing her. 

_ “I knew you would understand. You seem like a smart human. Here is what I offer: Release my shackles and allow me to possess this child. She and the other villagers will live, her father will not notice the change. And I will be able to live among you and finally see the world through her eyes.” _ It snarled, as if attempting to smile.  _ “We all win.” _

Everil raised an eyebrow. “And the alternative?”

_ “How long do you think your friends will last up there? I can mend the undead on a whim, making them practically invincible. And they will not stop until you kill both Amelia and me or take my offer.” _ A mirthful giggle escaped it.  _ “Or you could flee and leave the village at my mercy, though I highly doubt you would do such a thing, Grey Warden.” _

Silence stretched out as Everil clenched her jaw, weighing their options. 

The demon waited patiently for her answer. 

“Very well... I will set you free.”

“Evy…” Leliana uttered uncomfortably.

The Grey Warden gazed at her from the corner of her eye. “We don’t have much of a choice, Leliana.”

The demon let out a laugh, casting its eyes over the metal patterns on the ground behind it.  _ “This is the seal Willhem kindly built for me. One of the moving pieces has to be placed on the slot at the end of the puzzle to break it. However, if you get it wrong, you will end up like your friend there.” _

With a confident look, Everil sheathed her sword and strode towards the platform. She climbed onto it, scrutinizing it. There were metal squares that were movable, each with a pentagram drawn over it. The design reminded her much of a sliding puzzle, only this one was a seemingly dangerous version of one. Her sharp eyes traveled the mechanisms underneath, trying to map the paths for all the pieces in her mind. She could feel the heat radiating from some of the slots where the squares fit in, which told her that perhaps it would be a good idea to avoid them.

Taking a breath, she approached the first piece and lowered herself onto one knee. She slid it along the metal railing, hitting a corner when it bent downwards across the platform. More squares were rearranged while Leliana worriedly watched her work from afar. 

Then one fell into a hot slot. 

Everil jumped, narrowly avoiding the flames bursting up. “Blast it…” she hissed as the fire slowly died down. 

_ “Nice reflexes,”  _ the demon mocked her.

She shot it a dirty look and pushed herself back up, returning to the last piece she tried to move. Everil breathed a sigh of relief when it made it to the end of the puzzle, clicking still and lighting up a cool blue. 

The demon moaned in response and the cat’s body glowed, dropping from the little girl’s arms and landing gracefully on the floor. The shape of a woman emerged from the animal, sensual curves rounding a naked, purple body. She hovered gracefully over the ground, a crown of blue fire decorating her head and full lips spreading into a fanged smile. Everil kept her sights on her as she turned to face her. 

_ “A deal is a deal, mortal.”  _ Like a predator honing down on its prey, the demon’s gaze went to Amelia. Yellow eyes glowed red as she approached the frightened child. 

“Kitty?” whimpered Amelia, now fully awake. All color drained from her face as she stared at the demon, seeing its true form for the first time.

“Yes…” she chuckled, reaching out to her with a clawed hand. “We can be together forever now, Amelia.” 

Gushing blood blocked the demon’s vision, surprising it and causing the child to faint from shock. She blinked her cat-like eyes, withdrawing her arm to find half of her forearm was now missing. Bewilderment dawned on her face upon seeing red flowing freely from the stump.

“Sorry…” Everil stepped between her and the child, wielding a bloodied blade. “But I can’t keep my word.” 

Leliana stood, drawing her daggers while Bjorn also dropped into a battle stance, growling viciously. 

“You tricked me…” the demon gasped in disbelief, anger quickly bubbling up as it bore its fangs. “You bitch!” And she flew forth with super-human speed, screeching angrily. 

Everil deflected her sharp claws, but she was faster than her, striking again and again with her one arm as the Warden struggled to time the hits. She backed away one step at a time as sparks flew every time claws and steel connected, slowly drawing her away from the unconscious girl. Meanwhile, Leliana broke into a dash, going for the demon’s back. 

“Damn you!” cried the creature, whirling about to block the other woman, while Bjorn latched on to her leg. She screamed and released a powerful shockwave that sent all three hurtling away from her. 

With a huff, Everil rolled onto her feet, bringing her sword up just in time to guard against another strike. Her jaw tensed as the demon applied pressure on her, rage twisting its beautiful face to show its true, bestial form. “I will tear you to shreds!” she roared as blue sparks crackled and popped over her body. 

Everil gasped and rolled aside just as a stream of electricity shot straight through where she once stood. But she didn’t stop, kicking forth and closing the distance with a battlecry. The demon slashed again and she evaded, swinging upwards. It deflected the attack, breaking the Warden’s stance before blocking another hit from Leliana. It whirled about, slashing at both women. Everil pivoted out of the way, earning a small scratch on the arm while bringing Elethea around with her. 

The demon’s hand caught her wrist before she could cut her, grabbing on to her sword arm. Everil grunted as it squeezed and shoved her down, its raw strength making her bend the knees. 

“You’re mine!” the demon roared, sparks once again crackling over her. 

“Not happening!” Leliana cried out just before she buried her daggers into the demon’s back, instantly dispelling the power surging through her. She screamed in agony, but held on to the Warden until Bjorn’s powerful jaws clamped onto her arm. The demon screamed again and released her hold on her, trying to shake the beast off. Everil took the opening, thrusting through her chest.

“This is for Wynne!” she roared, and the demon's eyes went wide before the Warden’s dagger sliced open her neck. Crimson sprayed over her as the body sank, then she shoved it off with one foot, letting her drop to the ground. "I hope you enjoyed your moment of freedom...” she whispered cooly.

“Are you all right, Evy?” asked Leliana as she approached her. 

“Yes. Thanks for the help.” Everil swooshed her weapons clean and sheathed them, then petted her hound. “You too, boy.”

Bjorn whined a little, his tongue hanging off the side of his mouth.

“We should hurry back now…” she said, eyes going to the child they’d rescued, seeing her still asleep where she’d fallen.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Alistair sliced through one of the corpses before breathlessly surveying his companions. Zevran seemed all right despite minor cuts. Morrigan was out of breath but had managed to remain untouched. While Sten seemed tired but continued to fight through the exhaustion. He dodged another blade, stabbed into his attacker's gut, then swung his shield, breaking its brittle neck.

“Why won’t they stay down!” Zevran shouted from his spot on the field, irritation in his voice as the one he’d just killed put itself back together.

“It’s the demon’s powers! Until it lies dead I fear they will keep coming back!” shouted Matthias, sweat sliding down his brow as he cast a wave of flames over those approaching him. They’d managed to keep the ghouls from reaching the innocents behind them, which was good considering Matthias had to drop his barrier to help them. 

And then, just as they came, the corpses stopped moving and began to drop one by one. The group of warriors stared in puzzlement, lowering their weapons as the last enemy fell. The demon’s influence over the village slowly faded, lifting from it like a curtain. A cool breeze flowed into the streets, blowing up dust as it grazed over the bodies now finally dead for good.

The sound of a door being kicked open drew their attention to Everil as she stepped into the square, carefully carrying the sleeping Amelia in her arms. She calmly made her way to them, unconcerned by the blood on her body, her hair swaying with each confident step. Leliana came out after her, with Wynne resting on her back while Bjorn followed behind them. 

Matthias ran to them, meeting them halfway. “Amelia!” 

“She’s fine, only sleeping,” Everil said with a small smile, handing the child over to her father. 

“Thank you! I… thank you!” he uttered with great relief, tears welling up in his eyes as he held the child tightly.

“Once you’re done tending to her and your people, I need to talk to you.”

“Of course,” he replied, watching her walk past him to meet with the others of their group.

Everil stopped next to Alistair as Leliana carefully leaned a slowly awakening Wynne against one of the few huts still standing. She produced a balm from her pouch and began treating her wounds while uttering reassuring words.

“How is she?” Alistair sent her a worried glance. 

Everil folded her arms. “Minor burns and bruises…”

“She’s tougher than she looks.”

She sighed. “Yes… Yes, she is.”

Steps from behind them had the two Wardens turning to Matthias. He approached them, shoulders slouched from exhaustion. “I thank you again for saving the village. If you hadn’t come when you did…” He shuddered and swallowed nervously. “I don’t really want to think about it. Uh… At any rate, what is it you needed to talk about, Warden?”

“I have a question for you.” Everil pulled the rod from behind her back. “That golem over there.” She pointed to the rock statue standing in the middle of the square. “How do you awaken it with this?”

“Shale?” His eyes darkened. “That thing killed my father… Why would you want it?”

Everil ignored the warning, refusing to back away from a potential resource. “We need it to help against the Blight.”

“You'd be willing to risk the danger?” 

“Yes.” 

He sighed helplessly. “Very well... I will show you how to awaken it.” 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Its eyes lit up a bright blue, the symbol on its forehead flaring as its joints began to pop and turn. It let out a groan as if yawning, then turned its gaze upon her, stone face twisting into a scowl. 

“Hmph… I must admit I didn’t expect the next one to be a female… and not a mage,” it spoke, the deep vocals matching its massive body as it stood five heads taller than she. 

Everil met its gaze, unfazed by its intimidating size. “My name is Everil Cousland. And we need your help.” 

“It speaks?” The golem’s stone brows lifted in amazement. “And it asks for my assistance?” 

"Y-yes…" Everil frowned at the way it was referring to her. “We need you to fight with us against the Blight.”

“The rod allows it to command me. Surely it knew asking in such a way was not necessary.” It placed its hand on its chin, giving her the closest expression of puzzlement it could muster. “Wait a moment… Something doesn’t feel quite right here. I ask that it command me to perform an action using the rod.”

“All right... I command you to walk over there.” She awkwardly waved the rod to the side.

Shale gasped in surprise. “Nothing... No compelling feeling to obey.” 

Alistair stepped up next to her. “I don’t like this...”

Everil gave him a quick glance, then spoke sternly to the golem. “Why is the rod not working?”

It shrugged. “Perhaps it’s broken? Regardless, it seems I am free to make my own decisions now. And what an odd thing to say that is...”

Everil folded her arms. “So what does that mean? What will you do now?”

“I… I honestly don't know. I don't remember anything from my past or what I used to do before that pathetic little mage took control of me. So I suppose I have no plans for myself now.” It tilted its head. “It said it wanted help defeating the darkspawn. I will help it, at least until I find a new purpose for myself.”

She opened her mouth to talk, but Alistair spoke up first.“Erm… Could you hold a moment, please?” He lifted an index finger to the golem and without waiting for a response, gently took Everil by the wrist. He led her to the side, seeking to keep the conversation just between them while the others in their group sent them curious stares.

“I know what you’re about to do, and I don't think it's a good idea," he spoke under his breath. "The rod is supposed to be a means to protect yourself. If we take it with us, we'd be walking around with an unshackled golem, instead."

“Come on, Alistair," Everil chuckled, folding her arms. “Can you imagine the number of darkspawn Shale could take out at once?”

“Oh, I can. But I can also imagine how many of  _ us  _ it could kill if it turns on us. You heard Matthias. It murdered its prior owner. So what’s to keep it from trying to do the same thing to us later?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I think the gain is worth the risk. We could use another heavy hitter. Besides, we don't know if Willhem deserved what he got. He did have a reputation.”

“That may be true…” He reached up to rub the back of his neck, shaking his head. “But it’s still too dangerous.”

“Don’t worry so much.” She grinned and playfully winked at him. “Just trust me.”

“You know I always do…” Alistair couldn't help but smile hopelessly as he watched her spin around and head back to the group. In the end, she had proven to be a better judge of character than he. He had been adamant about having some of their companions around, seeing them as crazy or unworthy of trust. 

A witch of the wilds with little to no social skills.

A former nun who could kill any man from the shadows, while reciting the Chant of Light.

An assassin who once tried to claim their lives, but was now willing to give up his for hers.

The sage mage who kept them all in line with her motherly words while healing their wounds.

A qunari who spoke little, constantly looking down on everyone, yet was as loyal as any soldier.

And then there was him. A broken man whose past turned him into a giant ball of insecurities, which she’s had to slowly help him overcome.

They all had their faults, but each of them followed her without question.

From a distance, he observed her interaction with Shale, watching as she reached out for a handshake. Her small hand disappeared into the golem's much bigger one, one strong enough to crush hers into a paste. But while the thought made him slightly nervous, he felt a tug at the corner of his lips. If she had managed to keep their band of misfits working together this far, then perhaps there really was nothing to worry about.


	12. In the mind of a General

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ L _ _ oghain set his fork atop an _ empty plate and wiped his mouth with a cloth, hard gaze focused on the decorative piece of armor at the other end of the dining hall. The royal banner hung over the walls, swaying with the cold breeze flowing from the windows. A fire burned at the center of the room, providing some needed warmth within the frigid insides of the palace. He adjusted the cuffs of his black and grey tunic, the sword at his hip clanking against his ornate chair. 

The castle’s private dining area was ten times more spacious than the tiny village hut in which he'd been raised in his youth. And it was almost obscene how much wealth nobility owned when compared to the peasants, to the point where they were not once concerned about going without a meal. But although he’d risen above those days, he still cared about the countrymen who lived what he’d lived before his life changed. Though it appeared many of the privileged didn’t think the same. The situation in Ferelden was worsening, and his campaign against the banns who opposed him continued without the results he anticipated. 

Thoughts and memories drifted through his mind, sending him back to a time that still felt all too recent. If there was something he learned during his travels with his old friend Maric, it was that, at times, matters needed to become worse before they could get better. And back then, when all Fereldans were nothing short of slaves to a tyrannical usurper, worse was the norm. He recalled the many times he and his father had to flee those Orlesian forces along with the rest of the rebels, seeking any semblance of normalcy in a chaotic world filled with cruelty. 

Many a time they had to fight for their lives, watching those they cared about die and even more of them dragged away to be jailed and possibly tortured. But regardless of the consequences, those who’d followed them kept on fighting, risking everything for freedom. And when he’d met the then Prince Maric, he’d both lost and gained. 

His father perished giving his life for Maric, seeing in him a beacon of hope despite the young man’s lack of nerve, focus, and military prowess at the time. And from his death, Loghain had found a clearer purpose: to work together with a runaway prince and bring the Orlesians to their knees. 

They had both been young, each raised in two different worlds in spite of the usurper’s constant persecution of Maric’s mother—the legendary Rebel Queen. And by the Maker, they broke through the divide in social class and brought down the enemy. It took blood, sweat, and many deaths to place Maric in his throne. Great sacrifices many younger than himself have nearly forgotten.

But he would remind them of this. Again, Loghain Mac Tir would unify Ferelden, even if by force. Just as back then.

The dining hall doors opened, drawing his attention away from the memories of past battles, and to his only daughter—Anora. He watched her enter, concern etched upon her brow while her purple dress flowed at her ankles, long golden hair hanging over delicate shoulders. She resembled his late wife in beauty and poise. But her eyes held his calculated stare, her mind his equal smarts, and her heart the same pride.

“Good morning, Father,” she greeted, her tone polite, but underneath there was an edge. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she took a seat across from him on the long banquet table. Servants promptly served her breakfast, each one avoiding her gaze with heads held low. They could tell their queen was unhappy, and so could he.

“Good morning. I see you remain... discontent." His gaze softened as he regarded her, leaning back in his chair before taking the chalice of wine in his hand. Loghain knew his attempts at shielding her from what was happening around them weren’t welcome. But they were necessary. Anora had to take over the throne when this was over, and he would make certain only he would be held responsible for his own actions.

“Leave us,” she sharply commanded the servants. The elven maids were all too pleased to comply, bowing before they scurried out of the room, leaving the rest of the food trays for later.

With a deep sigh, she glanced up at him, her fingers pinching a piece of bread from the roll on her plate. Anora ate and swallowed with disinterest, pinning him with a firm stare. “Yes... Why wouldn't I be? Ferelden's state of affairs is dire, and you have yet to allow me to take part in the decisions made thus far.”

His expression was severe, but he kept his tone gentle, trying to reassure her. He was not very good at expressing his feelings, but for her, he made every effort. “The current state of affairs is something only military strategy can resolve, Anora... You should trust my judgment and be patient.”

Anora frowned, frustration hinting her voice. “I may not have had feelings for him any longer, but my king lies dead. And now civil war ravages my lands during a Blight that threatens all. You cannot fault me for doubting you, Father.”

“How many times must I tell you?” A tired breath left him as he leaned forward, facing her scrutiny with unwavering resolve. “Cailan was responsible for his own death. He never listened to anyone and was too engrossed in his fantasies to make competent decisions. ”

“That may be so, but Ferelden now has no king and no heir...”

“Ferelden has you. Your leadership will bring back order once this crisis is over.” 

“Provided there is any land left to rule…” Anora focused on her food, but her stiff posture told him her mood towards him was not improving. “You have yet to act on the Blight while the number of refugees arriving in Denerim grows with each passing day. The people need hope, and we have given them none.”

Loghain felt his own irritation grow, struggling to accept her doubt in him was justified after all he’d sacrificed for her sake. “The darkspawn will be defeated. I have already begun taking measures that will ensure our success in this war.”

“What measures, exactly?" Anora gazed at him, brows knitting inquisitively. 

The seasoned veteran took a drink from his wine, tasting its bitterness before speaking once more. “I have sent some of my men to Orzammar to help gather the help of the dwarves... They are an ally. We can use their aid to rid ourselves of this threat.”

“Are you certain of this? The dwarven military is small when compared to what is left of ours, and that of the nobility combined. It doesn't seem possible that only their help will suffice.”

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “You worry too much.”

"And you worry too little, Father...” Anora gave her head a disapproving shake, eyes almost pleading. “Times have changed in these thirty years. It is no longer the Orlesians who are the threat. The Blight, however, is much greater than those old grudges. Please seek their aid… You risk losing your beloved homeland to the darkspawn when we could be working together against them.”

A look resembling sadness crossed his face and he stood, drinking what was left of his wine before slamming the cup upon the table. He stared at that cup for a moment, jaw set, before he closed his eyes and released a breath. He quietly stepped away from his chair and crossed the long distance towards her, steps steady and back straight. Without saying a word, he leaned over to kiss the top of her head, before gently caressing her cheek. “Your words come from a place of ignorance, my child…”

He then turned his back to her and headed for the door.

“Father…"

He paused.

“You know that I love you and that I respect you above anyone else…” she said, staring at his back with hard eyes of her own. “But be aware that I shall not remain idle for much longer... Not while my kingdom burns. Should things continue as they are, I will do whatever it takes to take back the throne and my lands, even if I must eventually defy you.”

“I know…” Loghain glanced over his shoulder, a small, proud smile on his lips. 

Anora watched him walk away without another word, leaving her with only her thoughts for company **.**

⚜⚜⚜⚜

It was time to head for the study, where he knew Howe waited for him. Loghain didn't much like the man, but he couldn't deny that the new Teyrn of Highever was more trustworthy than any of the other nobles currently taking arms against him—this despite the way in which he obtained his title. They'd known each other for almost as many years he'd known Maric and had even fought together against their oppressors. That was the sort of experience he needed. The kind of people who would help him gain another victory and ease his daughter's fears.

Opening a large oak door, he entered as if he'd always owned the place, while the hawkish man turned his attention from a window to him.

“Ah, good morning, Your Majesty.” 

“Good morning.” Loghain strode to the desk and took a seat, going straight to business. “How are things on the field?”

Howe stood before him, hands clasped behind his back. “Several nobles have surrendered their support to us. Soon the Bannorn will have no other choice but to join us, or continue fighting and risk not having enough resources to defend themselves against the coming darkspawn raids.”

He nodded. “Good… And what of the darkspawn?”

“They are crawling towards Redcliffe as we speak, stopping along the way to destroy minor villages and homesteads.” Howe stopped for a moment, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt. “The reports say that their numbers are... significant.”

Loghain scoffed and scowled derisively at the news. “People tend to exaggerate when fear clouds their judgment… But it is a shame Eamon is in no shape to fight them when they arrive."

“Indeed,” Hawe uttered with a quiet smile. “On a separate issue, sire… The preparations to begin the trade of the alienage elves have been completed. Soon, they will no longer be a concern to you.”

“Well done… The sooner it is done, the better.” Loghain's hardened gaze fell upon the map that lay open over his desk. His strategies were at full display upon it, all planned to the last detail against the rebellious nobles, and soon against the darkspawn. It was just a matter of time before all the pieces fell into place. And although he was still filled with remorse over his hand in his son's passing, he found himself wondering what Maric would have done had he been in his place.

Surely nothing so vile and treasonous. Yet justified.

_ Anything for my country... _


	13. Lovers in the night

⚜

  
  
  


_ T _ _ he day darkened as the full moon rose, _ its light threatening to drown that of the stars over the inky blackness of the sky. A cool breeze caressed the canopy of the trees, causing their branches to moan in protest. But it was not all peaceful silence as the thundering clash of metal against metal cut through the stillness of the night. 

Two figures were locking blades, their silhouettes shifting with great speed before the glare of their campfire. Everil huffed, brow covered in sweat as Zevran's dagger collided with hers, swift and surprisingly strong. A roar escaped her as she parried it off, just as he brought around his other blade. She leaned backward, inadvertently granting her sparring partner a chance to strike. Her dagger flew from her hand when he hit it, leaving her to bring up her sword for another block.

“Tell me again why they’re doing this?” Alistair tilted his head to Leliana, who was seated next to him and Everil's hound by the fire. He kept his attention on the sparring duo, fingers absently scratching behind Bjorn's ear.

“Everil just wants to broaden her skill set.” Leliana smiled, also following their movements. 

“I still don't get it. I mean, of course, I worry about her in battle—and I know she can be reckless sometimes—but she’s still the strongest person I know.”

“She's a leader and it is also a leader’s duty to improve on any perceived weaknesses," Wynne explained while taking a seat next to the nun, all wounds thankfully healed. 

Everil swung in a sideways slash while Zevran ducked, the sword swooshing over his head. She attacked downward, he sidestepped, dodging while swinging before she easily deflected the hit. Their weapons met again and again, but the Warden soon noticed something was off. She clicked her tongue and locked blades with him. “Don't go easy on me, Zevran!”

“Whatever are you talking about, my lady?” he asked with a mock hurt look.

“I can tell you’re holding back,” she huffed, withdrew, and attacked once again as he blocked. “I'm a grown woman, I can take a hit!”

Smirking wickedly, Zevran struck, knocking the sword out of her hand. He spun and landed a swift kick on her stomach, forcing the air out of her. She coughed and stumbled, grunting a curse.

“Fine, I'll be honest with you, lass,” Zevran said with a wink. “You are as slow as a fisherman's one-legged wife.”

“What…?” Everil blinked at him a few times, then scowled in frustration. “Damn it… Is it my sword’s weight?”

“That and your technique is different." He crossed his arms, putting on a lopsided smile. “I am an assassin, trained to kill by the best. My job is to eliminate the target as quickly as possible, without them seeing me coming or via a surprise attack like the one I used on you in Denerim. We simply have to be swift in every way to be successful. You, on the other hand, are constantly on the defensive. You were trained by a swordsman, no?”

“My father and brother taught me everything I know when it comes to swordsmanship. My skills as a rogue came from my mother.”

“Then you are bound to be slower than I am… and lack the precision to kill quickly. If you want to be faster, then you have to change the way you fight.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Hmm… Drop the sword for a dagger. The lighter weapon will give an additional kick to your speed." He shrugged and smiled at her. "It's a riskier technique when compared to yours, but once you get used to it you can become a much deadlier opponent.” 

Sighing, she walked over to her blade and picked it up, gazing upon it reflectively for a lingering moment. Elethea was all she had left of her family’s aside from her name, it was not just any weapon. It was a friend now. An old friend practically passed down to her by her parents just before they gave up their lives for her. Letting it go would feel as if she was abandoning them… all over again.

“No… I'll find a way to be more efficient with my sword. If only a little," she said to the elf. “Can we do this again next time we camp? I would like more practice to find improvements.”

Zevran chuckled playfully. “Of course, my lady. I did enjoy our dance.”

“Thank you...” She carefully sheathed the blade at her side, then turned to Bjorn. “Come on, boy... How about we take a bath before we get some sleep?” The hound barked excitedly and left Alistair’s side to follow his mistress to the small lake near the camp.

“Say…”A curious Zevran observed her retreating form before gazing at the rest of their party. “Why does she seem so attached to that blade?” 

“It belonged to her family... They were all killed a few months ago,” was Alistair's solemn response as he meekly poked at the coals.

“Ah...” Zevran took a seat by the fire to warm his hands. “Is that why she joined the Grey Wardens? Because her family was murdered?”

He averted his gaze guiltily. “In… a way.”

“You were there when it happened, weren't you?” asked Leliana, frowning up at him. 

Alistair nodded slowly. “And… every time I think about it, I wish Duncan and I could've done something to stop it. Instead, we watched Highever Castle fall and basically forced Everil's father to let us recruit her in exchange for helping her escape. Not the most heroic thing to do…”

“Don't dwell on such things, young man." Wynne smiled warmly at him, gently placing a hand on his forearm. "You have done well in being there for her ever since.”

“Yeah…” He half-smiled. “Thanks…”

“Your story reminds me of a time when I assassinated this beautiful woman's abusive husband,” Zevran placed an arm on a bent knee. "Needless to say it was love at first sight.”

Alistair scoffed. “Are you sure it was love and not your urges talking?”

“I love all women, Warden.” The elf let out a sultry chuckle, brown eyes twinkling with mirth. “It is my goal to make them all happy—both in life and in bed. Perhaps I should give you a few pointers?”

He rolled his eyes. “I'm fine, thanks…”

“Returning to the previous topic,” Leliana interjected. “Is Everil the last of her family?”

“We don’t know…” Alistair sighed. “Everil's brother was in Ostagar leading Highever's forces. We thought he may have survived but we haven’t heard from him… or of him, for that matter.”

Wynne shook her head sadly. “Such a shame… The Couslands were one of the oldest families in Ferelden. Well respected.”

“Yeah…” Alistair stared angrily at the flickering flames before them. “I just hope we can get justice for them too. When this is all over… Maybe Arl Eamon can help punish Rendon Howe along with Loghain for everything they've done.”

"Rendon Howe? He was involved in their deaths?" Wynne seemed surprised. "Is that why he sent his men to capture her back in Denerim?"

"Yeah. He was the one who attacked her castle. He's in cahoots with Loghain too." Alistair let out a single, humorless chuckle. "Heh… He's probably his right-hand man, actually. Considering his involvement in some of his schemes…"

"I'm sure justice will come in due time. Someone like him can't possibly get away with murder," said Leliana.

He nodded. "We'll see once we find the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

The others quietly agreed, all joining him in watching the light of the fire in comfortable silence.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Morrigan ran a wet rag along her bare arm, wiping off all dirt and sweat. Jet-black hair lay damp over delicate shoulders and down her chest, not quite covering her supple breasts. She gazed at the night sky, taking in the twinkling stars. It was so peaceful and quiet out in the wilderness, something she was very accustomed to. But it was different here than in the Wilds, with no dangerous shadows where beasts and barbarians lay in wait. It also lacked the scent of death and the swamp, which had been unnoticeable to her until now. Still, she felt a sense of nostalgia, recalling how her bare feet splashed in the wet mud and over mossy rocks. 

All while she was being groomed by her mother to be both a tool and her vessel. 

_ Curse her…  _ Morrigan glared bitterly into the darkness, trying her hardest to shove aside the subtle ache in her heart. What was done, was done. There was nothing she could do now but prepare and keep running away from the creature she'd once called Mother. 

Movement coming from the trees made her catlike stare snap to the approaching figure as she submerged her body. 

Everil paused halfway to the shore upon spotting her. “Morrigan. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Others need to wash up too, as you well know.” Morrigan lifted her nose, relaxing upon seeing who it was. “Though some in our little party do not bathe as often as they should.”

“Mind if I join you? I still have demon blood in my hair.”

She shrugged. “Do what you will, I care not.” 

Everil smiled and strode over to the shoreline while unbuckling her armor, hound in toe. The witch subtly watched her strip as she continued to bathe, observing with disinterest. It was odd how much closer they'd become. To her, modesty wasn’t something that was necessary. A naked body was as natural as anything else around her. But there was a different sort of comfort when you trust enough to show your nudeness to another.

After she undressed, Everil picked up her gear, leaving her shirt and trousers on the ground. She bent over to wash the blood off the thick cloth, metal, and leather, using her fingers to scrub the pieces.

Despite having only moonlight to see, Morrigan noticed the scar on her shoulder and the few red scratches marrying her fair skin, like quiet medals of battles won. The light curved around the woman’s firm muscles, emphasizing her strength as her arms moved while she worked. It was a body built for battle, stronger than hers, yet somehow still feminine. “Did the elf teach you something? Or did he merely drool over you the entire time.” 

Everil looked up from her armor. “He did teach me something, actually. Zevran is not as callow as he appears.”

“Your impression of our male companions is quite baffling...”

The Warden let out a chuckle and set her damp gear aside. She entered the lake, shivering as the cold water touched her skin. Bjorn went in with a running jump, splashing both women and drawing a squeal out of them.

“Agh, you mangy beast!” Morrigan snapped irritably, rubbing her face.

“Sorry,” Everil laughed.

The witch clicked her tongue and glared daggers at the dog as it happily swam past her, completely ignoring her dirty look. Meanwhile, Everil leaned over to wash her hair, scrubbing her scalp and untangling the knots forming at the ends.

“So…” Morrigan began, dragging the rag down her neck. “You and that idiot Alistair have grown serious…”

“I suppose we have...” Everil felt a small smile tug at her lips, their first night together coming to her mind. 

“The two of you are making a mistake.”

Her smile faded and she sent her a puzzled frown. “What?” 

“After our conversation in Redcliffe, I’d hoped that perhaps you would make a sound decision and avoid falling for that fool. But alas, you chose to take this path, ignoring the consequences and risking letting a useless feeling get in the way of your task.”

“I am not ignoring the consequences…” Everil released a soft breath, slightly annoyed. “I will uphold my duty regardless of if I’m with Alistair or not. In fact, being with him will drive me to fight harder… for both of us. And I’m sure he feels the same way. That alone will keep us grounded.”

“You say this now, but I assure you… you will come to regret it later," Morrigan uttered, arrogantly turning her gaze away from her.

“I'll be fine, Morrigan… there's no need for you to fret over me.” Everil pulled her hair over a shoulder, continuing to work off the knots.

“I do not 'fret', Warden...” Morrigan scowled, something indescribable flashing over her eyes. “Do as you will. Just do not come to me weeping when the time comes—you may save that for the nun.” The witch then stood, revealing her pale, naked curves to the other woman. She strode towards the shore while Everil saw her go, taking notice of how delicate her silhouette was when compared to her own. The mage clearly took good care of her body, seeming more like a doll out of a glass box than someone bred in the cruel wilderness of the Korcari Wilds.

Morrigan dressed without another word and made for her side of camp, leaving the Grey Warden behind. She trekked through the brush and emerged in the clearing, veering away from the other tents and towards her own, secluded corner. Voices drew her attention and she spotted Alistair and Leliana sitting by the fire, making idle conversation. She stopped just long enough to look their way.

Sensing movement, Alistair gazed up from the flames and to where she now stood, his stare briefly meeting hers. He sent her a nod of acknowledgment Morrigan didn’t return, irritation rising up within her as she resumed her stride. An amused grin spread over his lips as he turned to the redhead sitting next to him. “Did you feel that chilling breeze just now?" 

Leliana hopelessly shook her head. "You two really should make an effort and get along.”

“Hah! Right... You should try telling  _ her _ that.” 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Once done with her bath, Everil returned to camp wearing only her white shirt, trousers, and boots. She strolled over to her tent, carrying the rest of her newly cleaned gear. Her gambeson was laid to dry over a bush beside it before she ducked in through the flaps to store away the rest. She glanced over at her furs, seeing them empty, waiting for her. But this time, she didn't accept their invitation. Instead, she left her tent and gazed towards the campfire, seeing only Leliana next to it.

Everil craned her head to Alistair’s tent and bit her lip, the urge to see him beckoning her to it. She briefly glanced at Leliana's back once more, then quietly crossed the distance from her tent to his, Bjorn trailing closely behind her. 

Her heart beat faster the closer she became, drumming in her ears by the time she found herself standing just outside. She anxiously licked her lips and knocked on the side pole before glancing over her shoulder at the other tents across their camp. Rustling was heard from inside, then the sound of something being kicked, followed by a quiet curse that caused her to stifle a chuckle. The flap opened soon after, revealing a slightly disheveled Alistair, with no armor and clad only in his white shirt and trousers.

A corner of his lips went up at the sight of her. “Hey...”

“Hey.” Everil tilted her head with a smile. “Did I wake you?”

"Uhm, no…" He cleared his throat and gingerly took her hand in his. "I was actually hoping you'd stop by to kiss me good night...”

“Oh? So you were waiting for me...?”

“Mhm...” 

“Silly man…” A light laugh escaped her. “What if I hadn't come?”

He playfully pursed his lips. “Then I would’ve been very, very sad...” 

“Aw…” She sensually stepped closer, smiling seductively while resting a hand on his chest. “Well, I'm here… Shall we kiss good night now?”

“All right… ” He gently cupped her cheek and softly pressed his lips to hers. “Hm… Not enough…”

Everil chuckled as another kiss came, then another, and another, each one luring her into his tent. Bjorn remained outside, lying by the door with a tired yawn.

As soon as they found privacy, their muted pecks deepened into a passionate kiss. He released a heavy breath as his hands gripped her firmly by the hips, earning a needy whimper. Everil's arms slithered around his neck and she moaned weakly, her tongue dancing with his in a slow, sensual waltz. Heat surged through her, rising from her core like a climbing flame and warming her chilled body.

Her palms crawled to his broad chest, craving to touch more of those hardened muscles, to feel his skin under her fingertips. They snuck under his shirt as she nibbled on his bottom lip, trailing up his abs and to his pecs as he released a shuddering breath. They briefly pulled away when she pulled off the piece of clothing, exposing his torso to her feather-like caress. Toned muscles tensed beneath her hands as he reclaimed her mouth once more, hungrily devouring those delicious lips of hers. She felt herself shuffling backward as he led her to his furs on the ground. And he carefully laid her over them before his heavier body pinned her down, hips between her legs.

Everil groaned as his lips broke from hers, then kissed her chin, and along her jaw. Her pelvis rocked impatiently as his bulging erection pressed against her center, teasing her with what was to come. She tilted her head with a blissful sigh, allowing him better access to the sensitive spots along her slender neck. Alistair sprinkled wet kisses over her drumming pulse, a calloused hand reaching for her shirt as she moaned softly for him. 

He kissed his way down to her collarbone, then to her heaving chest. Steadier fingers pulled on the long cord of her shirt, opening it wider to reveal more of her to his lips. Alistair continued his way down, pushing up her shirt just enough to reveal her own, toned abs. His tongue stroked her skin, creating goosebumps as she whimpered and tensed beneath him. And he kept moving downwards, until he knelt between her legs, leaning back to untie the string on her trousers. Then he impatiently pulled on her pants, but Everil halted him, reaching for him. “Alistair, w-wait… My boots. They'll be in the way.” 

He glanced at her, then at her legs and feet. “Oh… right.”

Everil propped herself up on her elbows and gave him a tiny smile, watching as he began undoing the buckles on one of her boots. "Sorry... It seems you have a little more work to do this time."

Forced to slow down to undress her, Alistair looked at her and let out a deep, throaty chuckle that made her shiver. "Worth the effort..." 

He breathed deeply to calm his raging urges and patiently worked on the straps of one of the boots. Upon setting them loose, he gently pulled it off, then discarded it somewhere behind him. More straps were unclasped as he worked on the other, ridding himself of it before gently caressing her foot. And he was a little surprised at how soft and delicate they were, despite all the walking they'd done.

"You know, this may sound strange right now..." He cast a loving gaze upon her and softly kissed her angle, leaving a tingling feeling. "But you have pretty feet…"

Everil laughed a little. "I admit I've never heard a man tell me that before..."

"Well, then I'm happy to be the first on that too…" he joked with another chuckle. After releasing her leg, Alistair took hold of her trousers and carefully slid them down, removing them from her. 

Cool air touched her bare skin, but it was what he did next that made her shudder.

Leaning over, he ever so softly brushed his lips over her exposed abdomen, his breath hot and heavy. She lay back down with a moan, an aching sensation spreading up from between her legs as he descended further. No man had ever made her feel this special, his tender caress leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Alistair untied the string tying her underwear in place at each side of her hips, releasing the knot and getting closer to his goal. Smiling a little, he pulled on the thin cloth, uncovering her feminine parts as her gentle, musky scent graced his nostrils. The sweetness of it beckoned him like a bear drawn to honey. And he lustfully eyed her sex, admiring the glistening, rosy petals nestled within a crown of dark, brown curls.

“Alistair…?” she breathed, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He responded by hovering closer and smiling tenderly at her, causing her blush to deepen. His lips brushed over her womb, the soft kisses traveling lower. And lower. His mouth was dangerously close and all Everil could do was watch as her heart rammed against its cage.

Alistair kept traveling south until very gently, he kissed the top of her curls. She gasped, feeling herself twitch in spite of the simplicity of the action. Curiosity kept her eyes glued to him, seeing him slide his hands under her thighs and lift them, making her bend the knees further. 

“W-Wait…!” Everil squealed, instinctively trying to close them.

His hungry stare met hers, completely disarming her. She gulped.

"It's all right, dear… I love what I see," he coaxed her while gently spreading her legs, revealing a better view of her moist sex. Alistair swallowed thick, feeling his own pulse drum in his ears at the sight of her while also regretting not having seen such beauty during their first time. He so badly wanted to taste her. To feel what it would be like to suckle on those silky petals.

"Uhm..." Everil looked on with anticipation, breathing as if she'd just ran a mile.

Shamelessly, he met her gaze and lowered his mouth over her, eyes glazed with desire. 

"W-what are you—?"

His hot, wet tongue pressed against her and slowly slid between her folds, stroking over her g spot along the way. He felt the bud pulse under it and watched as she threw her head back with a gasp, revealing to him her weakest point. Smiling inwardly at the discovery, he continued, his tongue coming back down and stroking through her petals, flicking her hard bud. 

She stifled a cry, grabbing on to the furs. “Oh, Maker…!" 

Now more confident, Alistair closed his eyes and lapped at her, the wet sounds joining her moans as she quivered. Her scent and her quiet cries were his only focus, his tongue drawing more of that sweet nectar as it trickled from within her. And he wanted more of it, to drink from this flower. His mouth enveloped her and he suckled greedily, a throaty groan rumbling from deep within him.

Everil moaned loudly, eyes shut in ecstasy when sharp pleasure washed over her like a rolling wave. She'd never felt such sensation, so deep and so personal. So vulgar, yet so right. 

His firm grip kept her bucking hips under control as her reactive movements urged him further. And her hand reached for him as if she were lost in a fog, gently grabbing at his hair as he noisily pleased her. Each time, he focused his tongue on her clit, the mind-numbing wet strokes getting closer and closer to shattering her world.

"Ah...!" Everil gasped for air, struggling to speak. "Alistair… If you… If you keep going... I will..."

Releasing a heavy sigh, Alistair listened to her plea and his ministrations slowed to a stop, his eyes opening to meet hers once more. With a small smile, he licked his lips, the sight so sensual that she shook. He then moved up to kiss her, drawing a muffled moan out of her as his tongue entered her mouth. She could taste herself in those lips, the tartness oddly fueling her need for him as if he'd tossed wood into a blazing hearth.

Alistair went for his breeches, but before he knew it, he was on his back with Everil straddling him. She hungrily devoured his lips, panting between deep kisses while grinding her hips over his. A whimper escaped her as his excited bulge rubbed against her now soaked, aching parts, her body begging for release. Feeling her moisture through his trousers, he released a deep groan, hands grabbing her bare behind as the pressure in his groin grew.

Then she broke away from their kiss, lips flushed as she leaned up.

"Everil…" Alistair moaned her name while she desperately untied his pants, biting her bottom lip as his erection twitched eagerly beneath its prison. Once finished, she triumphantly pulled down the fabric just enough to set him free, his manhood standing at attention for her. 

Her first task done, she leaned up, lifting her hips as her delicate fingers wrapped around his rod, making him shudder as a breath caught in his throat. Once again wearing her bottom lip, she slowly lowered herself upon him. A drawn-out moan escaped them both as every inch of him filled her, stretching her until he reached her top. 

Everil mewled as she slowly moved her hips, feeling him slide in and out of her, sparks shooting through her in tingling ripples. She brushed her lips over his while he moaned, his hands moving along her skin from her thighs to her sides. Alistair then tugged on her shirt, trying to take it off completely. She leaned back, still moving up and down in an agonizing pace as she helped him remove the piece of clothing. Then her hands reached for the center of her bra, untying the knot between her breasts. She discarded the piece of clothing, leaving her completely bare for him to touch. 

He wasted no time, rough hands enveloping her breasts, massaging them as she kept moving over him. Moaning as he slid in and out within her, Everil placed her hands over his chiseled chest, gazing down at his lustful eyes as she continued to ride him like one would a noble steed. 

“Oh, you look so beautiful…” he whispered breathlessly, kneading and fondling her soft mounds as she arched her back to him.

The sensation slowly intensified and Everil groaned with need, moving a little faster, coming up, only to come back down. The friction was like heaven, every inch of his length stroking her walls at just the right angle. Just the right pressure.

Calloused hands gently slid south over her now shimmering body, taking a firm hold of her pelvis. And he panted as he watched her breasts bounce with the motions, her hot insides drawing him away from reality. He wished to please her more, to hear her more. To make her his a hundred times over.

He thrust up then, meeting her each time she came down, pumping in and out of her. The deep, sharp penetration sent a jolt of electricity shooting through her body, and she had to force herself not to scream. “Oh, darling…!”

"Keep going…" Alistair groaned breathlessly as he watched her bounce on him, heat coursing through his veins as his own sounds of pleasure grew louder. His strong hands easily took charge of her, driving her rhythm at his will as his hips bucked to meet her own. 

And just like that, she was no longer in control. It all soon became too much, and she felt herself unable to keep her tone down. Panting with the effort, Everil leaned down, then pressed her lips to his for a passionate kiss, seeking to silence her own voice. Taking the opportunity, Alistair rolled them over, one hand grabbing one of her glutes as their loins met in a hard, slightly off tempo. Until he found his rhythm, her loud whimpers muffled by his mouth. 

Shaking arms wrapped around his back, her nails pressing against his flesh as his hard member continued its relentless assault upon her depths. He slightly broke away to breathe heavily, pressing his lips to her cheek, his breath hot against her skin.

“I can’t… I can't keep... my voice…” she whined weakly as if speaking would break her concentration.

“Then let them hear…” Alistair breathed huskily before giving her one, two, three hard thrusts, instantly taking away her restraint.

"Ah…Maker!" she gasped and cried out, her head rolling back as he leaned down to nuzzle her racing pulse. Each pump drew forth more of her passionate moans, another groan, another squeal, and her song was the only thing he wanted to hear.

"Oh, yes…" His voice was thick with lust as he picked up speed, hips grinding against hers each time they met with a resounding slap. He was still a little off, but without the nerves of their first time, he was bolder, more certain, more precise. 

It was an all too intoxicating mixture that drove her to do what he wanted. Anything to keep him going until they both reached their crashing demise together. “Oh, yes!” she cried out. “D-Don’t stop!”

He moaned into her ear while pounding into her, and she squealed, feeling herself quickly approaching the incoming cliff. Her aching, vaginal walls throbbed, the delicious pressure around him increasing. He groaned with her, his member thick and waiting impatiently for release.

Everil held onto him as if letting go would make her disappear, pressing her fingernails against his skin as his muscles moved beneath her hands with each thrust. The friction of his rod ramming into her was all there was, the pleasure welling up, filling like a dam about to burst.

"Come with me, love..." he huffed through a strained grunt, and those hot words grazing her ear was all it took for that dam to blow open.

"Alistair…!" And she came crashing down, screaming his name for all to hear as he came with her, releasing a cry of his own. Convulsing beneath him, her arms held him tightly as waves of pleasure crashed onto her like the raging waves inside a storm. And Everil felt him throb within her as her sex drank each and every drop of his seed, her walls pulsing around him with greed. 

With low, drawn-out groans, Alistair's movements became more sedated as they rode the ripples of their climax. He shuddered and sought her parted lips, giving her one last, slow, passionate kiss she blissfully returned. The kiss turned into tender pecks, each of them attempting to regain their ability to breathe. And they stayed like this for a moment that seemed to stretch on, their hearts pounding as they nuzzled and kissed each other as if they were long time lovers.

“I think… I'm very tired now… ” she whispered softly, her eyes suddenly feeling heavy, her body numb to the world.

He chuckled as his lips brushed hers, their breaths intertwining. "Me too…" 

With a slight grunt, Alistair pulled out of her and rolled heavily onto his back to lie next to her. Everil shifted tiredly to her side and rested her head on his shoulder, placing a hand over his heaving chest. A brief silence followed, and she almost fell asleep before he spoke.

“You know…” He let out a deep, shaky sigh. “I think I’m… the luckiest man in Thedas." 

She smiled weakly, taking a deep breath herself before she gazed up at him through weary eyes. “Even with... the Blight… and all the monsters, and the near-death experiences?”

“Are you kidding...?” He gently stroked her hair, amber eyes staring into azure pools, “If there’s anything I’m thankful for in all this mess... it’s meeting you."

“I feel the same way..." Everil nuzzled his neck, closing her eyes with a dreamy sigh as he continued to absently brush her hair with long fingers. 

Ever since she lost her family, she hadn’t been able to feel truly happy, their deaths constantly looming over her. But now, she felt as if she could conquer anything. Like she could genuinely laugh again. The pain was ebbing away, her soul coming back together piece by piece. All thanks to him.

Wanting to be nearer, she moved to cuddle closer, pressing her body to his. The slight shift caused a drop of his seed to slide out of her, trickling down the back of her thigh as her full womb tingled with the remaining echoes of their lovemaking.

The possibility of falling pregnant after their nights together suddenly crossed her mind. And yet despite how young their relationship and how uncertain their future, Everil found that she didn't mind the idea in the least. Her racing heart swelled at the thought, and she couldn't help but smile. For she would proudly have his child along with the Cousland bloodline—regardless of the royal blood he begrudgingly carried. They could live on as peasants after this was over for all she cared. All she wanted was to be with him. Come what may.


	14. Orzammar

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ E _ _ veril dropped her bag and gazed _ upon the snowy peaks of the Frostback Mountains from the edge of the cliff by which they were to camp, frigid air blowing through her hair. They had been traveling for days and were finally nearing their destination. It was difficult to tell how receptive the dwarves would be to their visit, as she’d never been to their territory in the past. Still, she hoped the lessons she received in her youth—those that spoke of their culture and their history—would be enough to help them recruit their help.

They had the Grey Warden treaties, but there was no guarantee the dwarves would keep their word as well as their ancestors did during past Blights. They were prideful people, reclusive in their ways. Few ever ventured out from underground, and those who remained on the surface never returned to their kingdom, shunned as outsiders.

“We should be arriving in Orzammar tomorrow.” 

Her head turned to Alistair as he stood beside her, hands on his hips as he too looked at the frozen mountains.

She blew up her bangs. “I only hope we'll get the support we need and still have time to help the arl.”

“Don't worry. We will.” Giving her back a quick, reassuring pat, Alistair returned to the middle of their clearing, where they’d already gathered wood for their fire. Her eyes followed him as she smiled, his newfound confidence bringing up her spirits. 

Everil picked up her camping gear and stepped to her chosen spot, taking a knee to begin unraveling her tent. Bjorn took a seat beside her and watched her work, yawning noisily and licking his chops. 

“Tired, boy?” she asked with a chuckle. They’d been riding on horseback, but her hound had to walk for some time, the incline making it difficult for him to hold on to her saddle. 

He barked in response.

Footsteps approaching made her look their way as Leliana strode in their direction, having completed setting up her own tent. “I saw some wild chickens on our way here,” she said, pointing over the shoulder with her thumb. “I wager they will make a nice, warm stew. Would you like to join me for the hunt?”

“Sure. I have to finish this first, however.”

“Here, let me help you,” Leliana offered, kneeling beside her to take one of the wooden poles.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The setting sun cast shadows over their path, turning the sky orange, yellow, and pink. Both women trekked through the woods, side by side, wielding bows and arrows as they scanned their surroundings. Bjorn led them, sniffing the ground while taking sharp turns around bushes and trees. 

“How fortunate Bjorn has such a great nose. It might even be near impossible for us to get lost,” Leliana commented quietly, grinning at the dog's stubby tail. 

“That may be so....” Everil chuckled softly as a memory came to her. “You know, that reminds me of the time I lost my way in the woods several years ago. Bjorn was but a pup back then, so he wasn't as good a guide as he is now.”

“Truly? That is almost hard to believe. How old were you, exactly?”

“I was thirteen. It happened during a hunting trip with my family. I didn't have as much experience tracking in the woods, but had the bright idea to venture out alone.” She laughed a little. “I was lost for four days...”

Leliana offered her a sympathetic look. “Oh, you poor thing! That must have been so frightening.”

“Actually, I didn’t mind much. My mabari pup kept me company. And when one is that young, it’s quite easy to be overconfident in your abilities… Which is what got me in trouble in the first place, I suppose.”

“How did you find your way back?” 

“Greta, Bjorn’s mother, was my father’s mabari. She led him to where we were,” she said before letting out a chuckle. “I’d strayed far away from camp when trying to make my way back, therefore making it more difficult for them to find us.”

“What a scare you must have given him,” Leliana said with a giggle. 

“Yes. I felt terrible when he found me. He was so worried...” She smiled wistfully, recalling her father's warm embrace. “What made me feel worse, however, was my mother’s reaction to the news. Maker knows my father never heard the end of it since. ”

The bard’s gaze softened. “You miss them, no?”

“I do… every day,” Everil uttered sadly, then sighed, staring at the ground. “My apologies. It was not my intention to dampen the mood.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Leliana gave her head a shake, red hair swaying with the motion. “I know they may not all be happy memories, but nevertheless, it makes me glad to know you feel comfortable enough to share them with me.”

“Thank you.” Everil smiled at her. “What about you? You speak of many legends in your songs around the campfire, but you must have had some interesting experiences of your own.”

Leliana paused for a moment, and she couldn’t tell if she was hesitating or thinking about which memory to discuss with her. Aside from the occasional reference to her once caretaker, the nun’s past was practically still a mystery to her and the others. She told them about Orlais, their fashion, and politics, but never really discussed anything personal.

“I am afraid that aside from serving and playing music for the lady of the house, my childhood was not as exciting as yours.” She lowered her bow and tapped her finger to her chin. “Hmm… I once accidentally poured varnish oil instead of honey in a noble’s cup of tea.”

Everil laughed. “Andraste’s mercy! How did that happen?”

“I had been polishing a table prior to Lady Cecily asking me to bring the tray of tea. Her guest’s name was Baroness Isabel, a lady of a respected house in Orlais. Her dress was so extravagant, it was both distracting and fascinating—with its bows, ribbons, and pearls. I still remember it,” Leliana sighed dreamily as she reminisced and giggled, picturing it. “I simply could not look away… As you well know, varnish oil and honey look very alike, especially when using the corner of your eye to pick up the bottle.”

Everil smirked expectantly. “So did she drink it?”

Leliana grinned, leaning in as she spoke. “She took a sip and spat it out… on my face!”

The Warden laughed. “Oh, that’s terrible!”

“Of course, she was unhappy, but Lady Cecily calmed her down soon after. It had been but a few days after my mother died, so she used that to justify my lack of focus,” Leliana said with a shrug, gazing up at the trees before letting out another giggle. “Needless to say, I have not placed honey and varnish oil on the same table since.”

The two chuckled, smiling at each other as they continued their trek through the woods. At this point, their small hunting trip had become more of a friendly stroll. It was with Leliana that she felt the most comfortable when compared to Morrigan, who was always so cold and distant. Leliana was like a warm ray of sunshine, so calming and inviting—even with her many secrets. Her company seemed to ease any stress and make you drawn to talk to her about everything and anything. Everil figured it was in part because she still had this minstrel's aura about her, someone with whom you want to be around and relax while listening to their songs.

After a moment of brief silence, Leliana’s soothing voice spoke up again. “You seem so much happier lately… Alistair too. Your relationship is wonderful to see. Like one of those romantic novels Lady Cecily used to read.”

“Ah… thank you.” Everil glanced at her, pink tinting her cheeks as a corner of her lips went up. “Though Morrigan didn’t put it the same way... To say the least.”

“Don’t listen to her... I do not mean to sound rude, but someone like her would never understand. Morrigan has been alone for so very long, that she is blind to what others need to feel—to what feelings even mean.” Leliana paused in her steps and looked to the sky once more, watching the stars begin to poke out from the fading orange veil. “Everyone needs another to make them smile once in a while… Even someone as strong as you.” Her gaze then returned to her, a shadow of sadness over her beautiful blue eyes. “I am glad he makes you happy… I wish you both the best.”

Everil almost didn’t know what to say, the emotion she could see on her features making her pause. “Thank you, Leliana…”

As if sensing she’d given too much away, Leliana’s smile turned brighter. “By the way…” she placed her hand on her shoulder, giving her a catlike grin. “I am curious... Is he good in bed?”

A chuckle escaped her at the unexpected question. She bit her lip and looked to the ground, suddenly feeling bashful. “Uhm… Allow me to just say… He is much better than I imagined a man would be.”

“Oh, so he’s your first?” Leliana gave her a teasing grin.

Everil nodded, her face turning a deeper shade of red. 

“Aw… That’s so romantic...” Leliana sighed dreamily and released another sultry chuckle. “Considering the sounds coming from your tent, I suppose he must be quite experienced at it too.” 

“One would think...” The Warden bashfully looked away. 

“Wait…” Leliana gasped, a hand going to her own cheek in wonder. “He was a virgin too?”

“Yes…” Everil twirled a strand of her wavy hair between her fingers. “And yet I feel confident enough to say that his performance is not affected by that in the slightest.”

“Oh… So he’s a natural...” Leliana nudged her arm with her elbow, wiggling her eyebrows. “Lucky you, Evy.”

Everil let out a small giggle of her own. She had never spoken about sex to another woman, mostly because she never had that sort of relationship with anyone before now. Throughout her life, friends were handpicked, rather than made naturally—all for the sake of appearances. Both her mother and her sister in law never really talked to her about such things. It was all protocol. Everything planned to the last detail, adhering to laws that were not truly written. And she found her experience with Leliana quite liberating. As if she were free to be herself around her.

The loud bark of her hound interrupted their conversation, making the two look its way

“Did you find something, boy?” Everil prompted, preparing an arrow while Leliana followed suit.

Bjorn approached a rustle in the bush ahead and barked again, forcing out what was hiding within. It shot out like a bolt, their heads whipping around as it ran. The hound chased after it with giant leaps, quickly leaving the women behind.

"Oh, blast it!” Everil went after it.

Leliana did the same. "They're headed for camp!"

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Quit staring, you perverted elf.” 

“I am simply admiring your beauty, Morrigan.” Zevran grinned seductively at her, leaning forth to rest his chin on one hand. “Though, I fear looking will be bad for my health.”

“Well, you  _ should _ be afraid, fool,” Morrigan muttered moodily, tossing the herbs she previously gathered into a pile with the rest of her supplies. Somehow she hadn’t had enough room to put up her tent farther away from the rest of the group, their camping spot being too small. Now, she was stuck setting up her tent too close to the rest of them.

“Why?” Zevran folded his arms as he sat nearby, watching her work with a foxy grin. “You pretend to be cold, but I'm certain there is hot passion in you yet.”

She shot him a dark look. “You know nothing of me."

“Oh, come now. I’m sure a tough woman like yourself could make any man whimper in bed,” he teased further. 

“I can make you scream now if you wish.” 

“Careful, Zevran. She’s not joking.” 

They turned their gaze to Alistair, who was sitting on a log by the fire. He poked the coals with a stick, adjusting them before tossing more wood in. He was usually the one working on their campfire, possibly because he found it relaxing. 

“I do not need your help, Alistair,” Morrigan retorted with a scowl. “Mind your own business.”

“Whoever said I was trying to help you?” He smirked at her, aggravating her further. “I just think it would be inconvenient for us to lose one of our much-needed party members because of you.”

“I appreciate your concern, Warden,” Zevran snickered, sarcasm at the edge of his voice. “However insincere it may be.”

“Yeah, you're welcome,” he scoffed. “Just don't get used to it.”

“Now, now all of you,” Wynne gently chastised from her spot by her tent. 

A bark in the distance drew everyone’s stares just as a large chicken burst out from the edge of the woods, chased closely by their hound. The group tailed the bird with surprised eyes as it ran through the camp in a panic, stumbling over cooking utensils and potion bottles. It squawked in fright when Bjorn jumped over the obstacles, opening his jaws as he neared its tail. 

The chicken made a sharp turn, hysterically flapping its wings while making the hound slide over the dirt and grass. Everil and Leliana ran into the clearing just in time to see it rush towards the large rock body standing in its path. A decision it came to regret when a giant slam shook their camp, bringing the temporary chaos to an end. Everything fell silent. 

Awed and in shock, Everil stepped up to Shale, gazing down at the red mass of bone, feathers, and blood now smearing the grass. She almost felt sorry for the poor animal. “Uhm... The idea was to have the bird for dinner tonight… But I suppose we can settle for bread and cheese again, instead.”

Shale—who they found out was female after a brief conversation about decorative stones—tilted her chin up arrogantly. “It’s not my fault its hunting skills are terrible.”

“Not terrible... We were only distracted,” Everil protested with mild irritation. “You know, that was a little excessive. Why would you kill something like that?”

Rock ground rock as there was an almost imperceptible shrug. “I was frozen in place for decades in that little village. Unable to move nor speak. I was but a statue in the town square while the villagers lay feed for the birds.”

Everil frowned, folding her arms. “I don't see how that relates to crushing a living creature like this.”

Shale bent over to her level, glowing blue eyes narrowing. “Had it ever stood in one place long enough for those wretched little creatures to soil its person? Each. And. Every. Day?”

Realization dawned upon her and she curled her nose with disgust at the mental image now in her head. “Oh…”

“I thought so.” Shale leaned back up, the menacing glare turning into a condescending look. 

After a moment—and to the golem's surprise—Everil grinned up at her, a twinkle in her eyes. “When we face the darkspawn, make certain to imagine them with giant chickens sitting over their heads.” 

Shale blinked, then responded skeptically. “Certainly…”

“All right, everyone…” Everil regarded the others, smiling apologetically. “At least waiting for dinner to cook is no longer necessary.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

By the time they were done eating, the sun had completely disappeared behind the horizon. Most of her group gathered around the fire, watching the next sparring session between Everil and Zevran, who had traded their weapons for sticks. She had significantly improved her offensive maneuvers within the last couple of nights of practice. She’d once been deemed one of the best warriors in Highever. Now, she realized that such preconceptions had limited her ability to expand her knowledge beyond what was taught to her. 

Everil ducked as Zevran struck sideways, but instead of continuing on the defensive, she used the evasion to counter his attack. She kicked forth from her kneeling position to quickly strike his side with her makeshift weapon, drawing a grunt out of him.

“Sorry,” she muttered, but continued her assault, forcing him to retreat out of the way of another swing.

“Don't apologize. It won't happen again!” he bit back with a diagonal strike. 

She leaned sideways, dodging the attack before using the same motion to twist around and kick at his feet. He backflipped to avoid it, then darted forth, bringing his sticks down in a stabbing motion, only to hit air when she rolled. He smirked and kicked downward while she tried to stand, knocking her feet from underneath her. Everil fell on her back and he attempted to climb on top of her. But Zevran was forced to retract when she kicked her feet up and rolled backward, narrowly missing his jaw.

“Everil has quickly become more agile,” Leliana pointed out with a smile, sitting between Alistair and Wynne, a half-eaten apple in one hand.

“I didn’t think that would be possible,” Alistair uttered, Everil’s fluid motions nearly mystifying. He’d seen her fight so many times he’d nearly forgotten how well she could move—how fast.

Zevran stabbed forth and she dodged, then in a blink of an eye, she slid her arm under his and across his chest while her leg hooked behind his. Now it was his turn to be surprised and his eyes widened as he fell. He was slammed hard against the ground, her knee on his chest and her wooden weapon touching his neck.

From his spot by the fire, Sten grunted with an approving nod. "A fast learner.”

“See?” Zevran smiled up at her, panting for breath. "A great offense is the best defense."

She returned the smile and stood, dropping her stick to offer him a hand. “Thank you, Zevran.”

“My pleasure," he replied, letting her help him up. He didn't let go afterward, however, instead kissing her knuckles. “Aren't you glad you let me tag along back in Denerim?”

She shook her head with a hopeless chuckle, gently withdrawing her hand. “Maybe a little."

He grinned playfully in return.

Everil then turned to the others. "I think I’ve kept us up long enough. We should probably go to sleep soon so that we are all well-rested. The trek through the Frostback Mountains will probably be strenuous, but I would prefer it if from now on we avoid unnecessary stops until we reach Orzammar."

“I do not believe sleeping in the middle of the freezing snow would be much fun regardless,” Wynne offered, rubbing her hands. It was already chilly as it was, as the gusts of wind traveled down from above. 

“Why not?” Alistair smiled at her. "We could all cuddle up for warmth. Like one big happy family!”

Wynne let out a tired chuckle. "Now that would be a sight to behold."

Morrigan scoffed. "I would rather freeze to death.”

“Oh, Morrigan…” Leliana smiled sweetly at her. "You will warm up to us yet.” At which the witch rolled her eyes and turned on her heel, heading back to her corner of the clearing.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

As expected, the higher they went, the colder it became. The heavy snow-covered every slope and boulder, freezing everything it touched. Everil licked her cool lips, her cheeks and nose flushed from the frigid air. Blowing wind picked up their cloaks as the Wardens led the others up the steep path, their horses struggling to climb while huffing steam from their nostrils. 

They were getting close to Orzammar now, the city within the mountain, where the dwarves lived sheltered from the world outside their dwelling. Not many of them lived on the surface, and those who did usually used the craftsmanship they learned in Orzammar to become merchants, selling weapons and armor throughout the surface cities and towns. But the dwarven people were not only known for their blacksmithing abilities, but they were also known for their resilience in battle. And Everil knew they would become a powerful ally against the darkspawn, provided they honor the treaty.

“So we will be visiting the dwarves…”

“Yes.” Everil turned her head to Shale, who was climbing on foot beside them. “We need to speak with their king in order to obtain their support against the Blight.”

“Hm… I don't remember much of how that place looked like… It has been so long.” 

“How long?”

“I have lived for nearly eight hundred years, but I could not tell it for certain. Memory begins to fade after so long.”

“Eight hundred years...” Everil echoed, surprised.

“Eight hundred incredibly boring years," the golem muttered with irritation. “One can only witness so much before life becomes stale.” 

“I can imagine… I didn't know golems could live for that long.”

“Golems are immortal. We can only... Die... if somehow destroyed. Which is very difficult to do," Shale said with a hint of pride.

Everil didn't know if she should feel bad for her or impressed by the newfound knowledge. But her tone told her that Shale didn't think that having such a long life was a gift to be appreciated. In fact, it sounded more like she was tired of it.

“I suppose going back to Orzammar may just give me an idea as to what should be my new purpose. Perhaps even help me remember what it was I was doing before that mage found me.”

The Warden gazed at her with a subtle frown. “Well… If there’s anything I can do to help you, just let me know. I realize we are on a quest, but you are now fighting with us so it’s a fair trade.”

Shale gazed at her, bright eyes flicking as she blinked. “Very well…”

After several more miles, they finally arrived at the outskirts of Orzammar, where small shops with armor and weapons were set up around the square outside. Further up, between the towering mountain walls, were two sets of stairs arched up to massive, iron double doors, intricately designed to protect the kingdom beyond them. 

Everil slid off her horse, feet crunching over the snowy ground. The others following suit. With a tilt of her head to the group, she led them to the nearby stable, where a few other horses were tucked away out of the cold. The dwarf tending the animals approached them at the entrance, visibly counting their mounts while standing at just above her stomach in height. He wore layers of clothing made of brown cloth, and a leather helmet, an axe strapped to his back.

“It’ll be five sovereigns per night..." he began with a dry tone, before his eyes landed on their chest plate, spotting the griffon. “Grey Wardens? I thought you were all dead in these parts.”

“We don't die off that easily,” Everil replied with a subtle smirk, reaching into the small pouch at her belt to pull out the bag of coins. She opened it, looking into it before lifting a brow to the dwarf. “And I was under the impression that Grey Wardens were considered honored warriors in Orzammar. You wouldn't happen to give a discount to such special guests, now would you, good sir?"

The dwarf's bushy, red eyebrows met at the bridge of his plump nose as he scuffed. "Not unless the king himself says so. And he's dead.”

Everil's eyes went wide and her heart seemed to stop for a second.

“What do you mean the king’s dead...?" Alistair quietly voiced her question, standing next to her with a look that mirrored her own.

“Dead as in... dead!" the dwarf replied gruffly, meaty arms folding over his broad chest. "They say he died out of grief over the death of his sons. It's all everyone's talking about around here. Now hand over the coin unless you want your horses to freeze to death."

The prior shock quickly faded and Everil’s expression hardened. “A discount or you lose your job.” 

“What?” The dwarf’s brows furrowed in confusion, then he glared at her. “I already said no, human. There’s no king to tell me what to do, so tough luck for you. Now pay up.”

“All right, allow me to say it a different way.” Everil folded her arms, putting on a stubborn scowl that matched his. “Drop the price or those left in power will hear that the stable master insulted King Endrin’s memory by refusing the customary hospitality to one of Orzammar’s longtime allies.”

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed dangerously, nostrils flaring as his brain visibly mauled over her words. He let out a grunt and scratched his bearded chin. “Fine! Four sovereigns!”

“Two sovereigns and five silvers."

“The dwarf grumbled. “Three sovereigns and five silvers.”

“Three sovereigns.”

“Fine!” He extended his hand. "It's a deal. Three sovereigns a night.”

“Good man." She smiled sweetly, unfolding her arms and handing him over the coin "Here’s three nights worth, in case we are delayed. I expect to find all my horses well fed and taken care of upon our return."

“Yeah, yeah..." he gruffly replied, pocketing the money before gesturing towards the stable. “Now, just follow the line and pick a spot for them.”

The group stepped into the stables, tugging their horses in. “The king's death will complicate things. I doubt they will agree to give us their support without a monarch,” she quietly told Alistair as they made their way down the rows of stalls.

“I was just thinking the same thing...” he sighed, rubbing the back of his head before smiling at her. “You could always use your charms... Like you just did with that dwarf.”

She chuckled lightly. “I don’t think I’m  _ that _ good, but I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

After tucking away his mount, Sten watched the snow slowly fall, mighty arms crossed over his chest as he stood just outside. A hand on his bicep drew his gaze to the Warden, regarding her with the same stony gaze he always carried. It had been difficult to understand how he now followed a human, especially a female. But she’d managed to somehow gain a degree of his respect.

Everil smiled up at him despite the cold look. “I promised we would get your sword back. Shall we look around now before we continue on?"

He was slightly surprised that she yet remembered. Not to mention there were obviously more pressing matters at hand, but she was still willing to take the time to seek out something that was of no consequence to her, yet meant everything to him. “Lead the way,” he responded with a nod of his head.

She turned to the others still working on their horses. “Please grab anything we might need. Sten and I have something to do before we head into the city.”

“Go on, my love. We'll be waiting for you at the gates,” Alistair told her from beside his horse's stall, still petting the steed.

Everil smiled tenderly at him. "Thank you, Alistair.”

After she and the qunari disappeared around the corner, Leliana released a soft chuckle towards the other Warden.

He gave her a questioning look. "What?"

"You two are adorable.” She gave a teasing grin, mirth in her eyes.

"Uhm... Thanks?” Alistair awkwardly scratched the back of his head. 

“I happen to think they are utterly nauseating,” Morrigan muttered in disgust while stashing potions into her crossbody bag. 

“Oh, come now, Morrigan,” Leliana pouted at her and then clasped her hands together with a gentle smile. “True love is a rare and beautiful thing. It must be valued and admired. Especially during times of death and misery. As one would a sliver of light at the center of a deep, dark tunnel. I pray that one day you will feel it too.”

The witch gave her an odd look and laughed loudly, a hand on her pale stomach. She shook her head, letting out a breath and returning to her task. Meanwhile, Leliana stared at her with a troubled frown as Alistair’s hand came to pat her shoulder. 

He grinned down at the redhead, attempting to reassure her. “For what it’s worth, I think what you said was very pretty. But you happened to say it to the one person who has nothing but a shriveled up weed for a heart.”

As soon as his words left his mouth, something came flying at him. Alistair ducked, barely able to avoid it. A bottle of lyrium shattered on the stall behind him, the blue liquid spraying over the wooden door and onto the ground. Morrigan wordlessly lowered her hand, glaring daggers at him before whirling about to face her bags once more.

“Hey!” he shouted at the back of her head. “Don’t waste our supplies like that!”

“Oh, do be quiet, Alistair!”

“ _ You _ be quiet! Some of that stuff isn’t cheap!”

Leliana looked between the two in bewilderment, listening to them shout at each other before drawing in a breath and releasing a long, defeated sigh. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

After looking around for a while, Sten and Everil finally arrived at the last of the weapon shops. She absently wrapped her hooded cloak around herself, shivering involuntarily while scanning the items on display. They asked the other shops about the sword, but they hadn't had answers. And she could easily tell they weren’t lying, for they seemed genuinely surprised upon seeing her towering companion. 

This dwarf, however, didn't seem the least bit shocked, though he was obviously intimidated by the qunari's size. “Looking for something in particular, Warden?” asked the shop owner, who shifted uncomfortably under her scrutinizing stare.

“I am, in fact,” she replied firmly. "My friend here lost his weapon a while back. Dwyn from Redcliffe told us you have it. Is this still true?"

Taken aback, the dwarf visibly swallowed. “Dwyn? The sodded liar... Why would I want a sword that big?”

Everil chuckled, crossing her arms. “I never said it was a sword.”

“I... assumed,” he grumbled.

“Come on. There’s no point in hiding it any longer.” The Warden tilted her head as if addressing a child, her smile widening.

The dwarf ran a hand over his fat chin. “If... I still had it… what would you offer in exchange?”

“Hmm... Let's see…” Everil tapped an index finger on her arm in mock contemplation. “Does keeping the qunari from crushing you sound like a fair trade to you?”

He cleared his throat, glancing towards the large man. “F-Fair…” The dwarf then reached under his table, digging through whatever it was he had underneath. He produced a large blade and heavily dropped it over the counter before backing away from them. 

Sten’s stare quickly widened, arms unfolding as he took a step towards it. Everil observed him, watching him slowly reach for it. His fingers wrapped around the hilt and his muscles tensed as he lifted the familiar weight of the blade, his expression unreadable. “I take it that is it?” she asked with a half-smile.

He brought it up to inspect it, noticing the familiar pattern on the hilt. And suddenly, he felt whole again. For the first time in their long journey, Sten looked down at her and smiled. “Yes.”

“Perfect,” she beamed. “Give me the one I gave you."

Sten nodded and did as she asked, handing over the weapon he'd been using up until now. She took it and turned to the dwarf before placing it on the table along with a few coins. “This should cover any expenses you incurred bringing the sword here.”

“Thank you,” the dwarf replied, a little surprised. He realized then that her earlier threat was only meant to force him to reveal the sword and take away his ability to set a price, making the transaction completely on her terms.  _ Smart woman… _

“Well, now that we’re done…” Everil faced Sten, patting his large arm before walking past him. “We should go meet with the others.”

“Wait.”

She paused midstep. “Yes?”

Sten secured the blade behind his back, then stepped closer. “You have led me with honor when others would have no doubt exploited my situation. And now you have kept your word to me, something not many of your kind do. You returned Asala to me and in doing so have restored my life as a member of the Antaam.” He extended a hand, a gesture that was human in origin, but crossed the bridge between their kind. “Know that from now on you are  _ kadan  _ to me… a friend in your tongue. I will fight for you and alongside you with pride.”

“Thank you, Sten. I'm glad I was able to help you.” She gave his hand a firm shake. Earning the respect of such a noble warrior was humbling. But knowing she now had his trust was even more so. Hopefully, this gesture of friendship would last past the Blight and maybe even help their peoples find common ground one day in a world filled with conflict.

  
  
  



	15. A Lord's Favor I

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ T _ _ he sound of chiming metal came  _ as Alistair and the rest of their party climbed the steps to the city gates. Three men were standing ahead of them, engaged in conversation with the only dwarven guard outside. One of the men was too well armed to be a simple traveler, with steel plated armor and a sword at his hip—gear only a knight or a minor lord could afford. The two others behind him seemed to be soldiers accompanying him, likely for protection.

“What do you mean Orzammar is closed?" the lavishly armored one questioned angrily, fingers curling into fists.

“I meant exactly what I said, surfacer. The king is dead and we're not permitted to let outsiders in until our new ruler is chosen,” the dwarf replied gruffly, glaring up at him. He too was armored and armed, with iron chainmail and an axe strapped to his back.

“You don’t understand. I am Imrek, messenger to the new king of Ferelden. I have come to deliver a message on his behalf. It would be incredibly disrespectful of you to deny me entrance.” 

Both men turned their attention to Alistair and the others as they approached, the dwarf scowling in annoyance. “More surfacers seeking to enter? Just what is it that’s bringing you people here?”

Alistair gave him a polite bow of the head. “We're here on Grey Warden business, good sir. My friends and I—”

“Grey Wardens?” Imrek’s eyes narrowed as he took a step. “You’re the ones who killed King Cailan and now wander around slandering King Loghain's name!”

Hearing his hostility, Alistair revealed his sword from under his cloak, regarding the messenger cooly while casually resting a hand on the hilt. “Sorry, but in spite of what you’ve heard, we didn't kill King Cailan. Teyrn Loghain let him, my fellow Wardens, and many other good soldiers die when he betrayed us and ran for the hills.” He gave the man a cocky smirk. “But I know you won’t believe me and we're not interested in fighting… So how about you ignore our presence like you ignore that your master’s a bloody traitor?”

Zevran snickered behind him. “Ouch…”

“You… dare!” The man's threatening look deepened, hand shooting for his sword.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

They all shifted their stares to Everil as she and Sten climbed the steps on the opposite side.

“Another Warden?” one of the soldiers noted with a scowl.

Imrek turned his glare to her, rough voice dripping with venom. “I heard the female was the leader... and that she was the one who killed Teyrn Howe’s men at The Pearl. How convenient you’re all here.”

“All right, if you’re all about to fight, take it off my steps. I don’t want blood on the stone," the dwarven guard interjected.

“It won’t come to that,” Everil assured him, stopping just two steps from the messenger. His facts were skewed since Alistair and Leliana were the ones who killed most of those men to save her. But he didn't need to know that. “As you said, I single-handedly killed Howe’s men in Denerim. In your case, however, you are outnumbered. So be smart and weigh your odds. We wish to avoid wasting energy fighting you after our long journey here.”

Everil could see his hard stare waver, but he stubbornly retained his posture. “No… I will eliminate all who oppose my king!” He gripped his sword, and in a flash of silver, her dagger was at his neck and her free hand grasped his wrist, keeping him from completely drawing the blade.

Imrek froze in place, not daring to move as he gazed down at her sharp blue eyes. His attention then slowly moved to the other Warden, who'd just as swiftly drawn his weapon and was now pressing the tip to his cheek. Meanwhile, Sten had already pinned the other two men with his greatsword, while Leliana aimed an arrow at them.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” Everil spoke evenly. “Walk away with your life or die here and now. Your choice.”

He swallowed at her cold tone, realizing she was both serious and fully capable of ending his life. “All right… We stand down.”

“A wise decision.” She lowered her weapon, the others slowly doing the same.

“Let’s go. We should report back to Denerim,” he told his men, hurrying past them and down the steps. His two guards went after him, sending angry glances towards them. 

The dwarven guard scoffed. “Well, at least I won’t have any cleaning to do at the end of my shift.”

Everil sheathed her dagger, stepping closer to him. “We need to go inside.”

“Like I said…” he sighed tiredly. “I’m not supposed to let any outsiders in until the issue with the crown is resolved.”

“We need the help of the dwarves against the Blight and we have treaties that obligate you to provide it,” she insisted, standing her ground while handing him the scroll. 

He opened it, eyed the seal on it, then rolled it up. “This is the king's seal, all right. You may come in.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile before nodding to the others. The great gates were opened for them and they went into the mountain, the guard mumbling something about troublesome surfacers. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

They entered through a large hall, where massive statues of dwarves wielding weapons and tools of their trait lined the stone walls. Dwarves didn’t hold the same religion the people of Ferelden did. Instead of venerating the Maker and His earthly wife, they adored their ancestors. Plaques that read Paragon marked each statue, along with names and details of their respective backgrounds. Paragons were considered to be living ancestors, treated in a similar manner as they would treat a god. Chosen for their extraordinary contributions to their society, their voices were given great significance. To the point where they sometimes made decisions on behalf of all their people and above the king himself.

Upon crossing the hall, they opened the next set of doors to the city and the sight that welcomed them nearly took Everil’s breath away. The rough sketches she’d seen did no justice to how great it truly was. Rivers of molten metal lit up the gigantic chamber, circling the buildings of stone carved from the walls themselves. The sound of distant hammering spoke of people at work, echoing through the chasm despite the sheer height of the cave’s ceiling.

Rough voices arguing drew their attention away from the majestic scenery and to two groups of dwarves currently facing each other further ahead. “The rightful king is Prince Bhelen!” one of them yelled, shoving another from the other group.

“That murderer has no business on the throne! Lord Harrowmont was handpicked by the king. He should be the one wearing the crown!” said someone from the opposition.

“You dare disrespect our prince!” Another dwarf lashed out with his axe, cutting down the one who’d just spoken. Surprise fell over the Grey Wardens and their party as blood splattered the stone floor, pooling beneath the dying man. 

“That’s enough!” A guard ran up to separate the two factions, pointing his axe at them. “Break this shit off right now! Fighting like animals... in front of visitors no less! Get out of here!”

Bhelen’s supporters took a step back, aiming their weapons at their adversaries. “This isn’t over!”

They watched them scatter in opposite directions, leaving behind the grumbling guard. 

“Charming fellows, aren’t they?” Zevran commented dryly. 

With the squabble over, the guard turned his attention to the newcomers. “I thought every outsider was to be kept out of Orzammar until further notice… But I suppose you Grey Wardens are the exception.”

“There’s two candidates for the crown?” asked Everil. “If one of them is the prince, then why not let him inherit it?”

“You definitely just got here…” he replied with a sigh. “Things are not the same here as they are on the surface, in case you haven't noticed. We don't put so much weight on royal blood since our decisions are made by the people and the Assembly. This means anyone they choose can be king if they have their favor.”

“Oh... I suppose it all makes sense now,” Everil said, wondering why she hadn't remembered that part of dwarven culture.

“And another reason we didn't just give Bhelen the throne in a silver platter is that most think he killed the king's sons during an excursion into the Deep Roads. He, of course, claims he didn't kill them. But when your own father doesn't trust you with the crown…”

“I take it that’s where Harrowmont comes in.”

“He says the king picked him on his deathbed. I'm inclined to believe him since he and the king were close friends.” He shrugged and crossed his arms with a scowl. “But that ain't my choice, and at this point, I don't care who gets the crown. I just hope the dashyrs at the Assembly will sort this sodded problem out soon before those idiots turn my streets into a battleground.”

“I see…” She frowned, taking in all the information. “So the Assembly would be the one to talk to regarding our request for help with the Blight?”

He stroked his thick, dark-brown mustache. “Hrmph… I thought I heard there was one… But I didn't think it was true. Yes, they would be the ones making that decision now. You can find them in the Diamond Quarter. That way.” He pointed to the right. “But I have to warn you, Warden… I doubt they’ll agree to it at the moment.”

Everil released a soft breath. “Why is that? Isn't the Blight a threat to you, as well?”

“It is, but you have to understand that while you surfacers only deal with darkspawn when they break out into the surface, we dwarves have to constantly deal with them down here. A few more attacking ain’t going to be something we'd consider a top priority.”

“Great...” She looked to Alistair, who was standing beside her with arms crossed, listening to the conversation. “I suppose we’ll have to speak with the Assembly and see what our options are.”

“Sounds like that’s all we can do for now,” he replied with a troubled look, then shifted his gaze down to the dwarf. “Erm.. We’ll probably need room and board while we figure things out. Is there an inn around here somewhere?”

“Yes, you'll come across it if you go that way,” he said, pointing to the left.

“Got it. Thanks.” 

As they made to walk away, the dwarf added, “And Wardens…”

Both turned to him. 

“You may be honored heroes to us, but don't even think that gives you leave to cause me trouble. Laws still apply to you around here.”

Everil smiled at the stern words. “Don’t worry. We’ll try to be good.”

With that they continued on, crossing through the streets and heading for the inn.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

As they trekked through the city it was clear that the conflict between the two candidates was common knowledge. The criers—men and women used here to deliver the news—announced the murder they’d just witnessed moments ago, speaking of it as if it hadn’t been the first. The rest of the people walking past them spoke amongst each other, each of them with varying opinions on the matter. All seemingly divided.

Upon finding the inn and paying for their rooms, Everil dropped her things off by the bed and released a tired breath. It was warm inside of Orzammar despite the raging cold outside the mountain, so she slid off her winter cloak and set it aside on top of the rest of her gear. 

She rolled her shoulders, her back stiff from having been on horseback for so long, in addition to their current situation. They’d expected there would be hurdles here, but she hadn't thought that obtaining dwarven support would be this complicated. Getting a kingdom without a king to help against a nearly impossible task would be a problem. One she feared even her diplomatic skills would probably not solve without help.  _ There must be a way to get this fixed… But how? _

A knock snapped her out of her thoughts while causing Bjorn to lift his ears. “Come in,” she called, kneeling by her bag. 

Alistair opened the door, giving her a tiny smile. “Everyone dropped their things off. We can get going when you’re ready.”

“Ah, good. Thanks.” Everil rummaged through her bag, grabbing the treaty and a couple of items they might need if trouble were to arise. As she did, he entered and closed the door, silently watching her prepare. She gazed up, glancing towards her hound, and then to him. “I think just the three of us will do for now. The others can remain here and rest. No sense in all of us being tired.”

“I guess that’s a good idea.” He looked around, taking in the dwarven runes, glowing crystals, and other objects decorating the walls. “Hey… I just noticed we all have our own rooms this time.”

“Yes.” She stood and walked up to him. “We could afford it thanks to Teagan’s additional help in our last visit to Redcliffe… And my great coin management skills.”

“Are you sure we can?” Alistair put on a teasing smile, gently taking her hand in his. “Those few silvers a night for my room may have been a bit wasteful...”

“Is that so…?” she chuckled knowingly. 

“Yep…” He leaned down to brush his lips over hers, gently cupping her scarred cheek. “I think we should get the coin back on our way out. I wouldn't want for us to need it and not have it later.”

She leaned into his touch, his suggestive tone and the mischief in his eyes stirring her urges. “And where will you stay, exactly?”

“I’ll go sleep with the horses.”

“Really?” Everil laughed at the unexpected response, choosing to play along. “I think you're only trying to find an excuse to sneak into my room.”

He let out a chuckle of his own. “Aw… you caught me. And here I thought my master plan was flawless.” 

“You’re not as subtle as you think.” She softly kissed his lips.

“Can't blame me for trying...” he replied quietly before kissing her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Everil let out a soft moan against his mouth, arms snaking over his shoulders and fingers trailing up to his hair. Her heart began to race as their tongues danced, passionately twirling against each other in an agonizing pace. She felt his hands slowly make their way down her back, then under her gambeson, taking hold of her firm rear. She whimpered, his hard grip pulling on that familiar yearning between her legs. 

She reluctantly pulled back, breathing heavily and struggling to calm her racing pulse. “Alistair…”

“Yes…?” he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers.

“We should… go get the coin back for your room.” 

A deep chuckle escaped him. “Just lead the way...”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The Grey Wardens and the mabari hound crossed the busy streets of the city, heading towards where they were told the Assembly was located. When they entered, they were greeted by one of its members, an old dwarf with a long white beard and clad in a rather lavish silk robe. He led them into the room where several others were gathered to discuss the election of the next king.

Alistair and Everil were left standing cross-armed by the entrance to witness the heated arguments between those present. The dwarves debated for their individual chosen candidate, split by a hard line, both sides unwilling to cave to the other as their voices rose into shouting matches. 

“Bhelen is the rightful heir to the throne and already has a great deal of support from the people. Why not just let him have it?” said one of the men, his booming voice daring the others.

“That he’s the king’s son means nothing!” a woman shouted back. “Harrowmont has the experience and the temperament to lead us. You cannot question that.”

“Who says? The man’s an old fossil!” the same Dashyr from before retorted, glaring at the woman from across the chamber. “We need a fresh mind! Now more than ever!”

“What we need is a true ruler! Not a criminal!” another man stepped in.

“You dare accuse our prince!” came another.

After more heated exchanges, a recess was called. Their bickering solved nothing, leaving the decision up in the air until further notice. Thankfully there was no violence, but it seemed tensions were growing between both sides.

“Our apologies, Wardens… it seems you have come at an inopportune time,” the old dwarf who’d served as their guide apologized.

“No kidding…” Alistair replied wryly.

“At this point, whatever business you have with us will have to wait until a new king is crowned. I am sorry...” The dwarf shook his head, then trudged away, leaving the three of them standing in the Assembly hall. Without options. 

Everil irritably blew up her bangs. “We can't simply give up. There must be someone here we can approach for help with the Blight.”

“I agree… But who?” Alistair frowned, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Quite the problem you have there, Wardens. Perhaps I can help.”

A dwarf leaning against the pillar behind them drew their troubled eyes, his hand stroking a voluptuous, red beard. Now that he had their attention, he pushed himself off his resting position and approached them on confident steps. “Greetings…”

“And you are…” Everil prompted with a scrutinizing stare.

“Dulin Forender, Lord Harrowmont’s top lieutenant. A pleasure to meet you Grey Wardens.” He offered his hand for a handshake.

She shook it, then Alistair did the same. And Everil had the feeling that meeting him out here was no accident. “So… You mentioned you could help us?” 

He folded his arms behind his back, standing regally. “Lord Harrowmont heard of your predicament and believes you can both benefit from an... arrangement.”

Alistair quirked an eyebrow. “If your lord thinks we can help him, why isn't he asking us himself?”

“As you have no doubt noticed in your short time here, it has become quite dangerous for his lordship to meet personally with anyone who has not properly earned his trust. I hope you can understand that.”

“I suppose we'll have to…” Everil sighed, folding her arms. “What does he propose we do?”

“A Proving will be held tonight... Where some of the best fighters in Orzammar will participate. He wishes for you to battle in his name and demonstrate your loyalty to him before granting you a meeting in person. You’ll be going against Bhelen’s fighters, of course. Which means you’ll be showing your support for my lord as the next king.”

“Our support…” she echoed hesitantly. “Why should we support Lord Harrowmont over the prince?”

Dulin ran a hand over his beard once more, eyes calculating. “Because he's a hot-headed, self-important fool. His own father denied him the right to the throne, bringing forth his best friend as his chosen successor. That should tell you enough about why my lord is the best choice.”

She and Alistair exchanged a glance. This was no ordinary choice they were making. Involving themselves in Orzammar’s current political turmoil could ultimately result in the crowning of whomever they helped. Someone who would rule over Orzammar and its people for generations. 

“Can you give us a moment?” Everil asked the dwarf, hiding her doubts behind resolute eyes.

Dulin nodded. "Of course."

She motioned for her companion to follow, taking a few steps away from Harrowmont’s representative. “Grey Wardens serve all races equally so we’re meant to be neutral,” Alistair spoke first, quiet enough for only her to hear. “We're not supposed to go around using our influence to choose kings and meddle in politics.”

“I know…” she sighed tiredly. “But we don’t have much of a choice in this case. We still need their help against the Blight.”

“Right…” Alistair placed a hand on his hip and pinched the bridge of his nose as if to thwart an oncoming headache. A pause stretched out between them, then he released a long, frustrated breath. “Have I ever told you how much I hate making big decisions? Because this is definitely one of those times.”

“You said once that Grey Wardens are also known for breaking the rules when desperate times called for it,” Everil continued, a corner of her lips etching up. “Is this not one of those times?”

“Yes... We're definitely pretty desperate…” He returned the lopsided smile with one of his own. “All right then… I guess we’ll just have to hope that this Lord Harrowmont keeps his word after we’re done.”

“He will. I’ll make certain of it.” She gave him a pat on the arm before returning to Dulin with their decision. 

Alistair remained where he stood, watching the two talk and shake hands to seal the deal. He didn't like going against Duncan’s teachings, but he also knew his mentor would have likely done the same thing in their shoes. Only time would tell if this choice of theirs was worth the risk.


	16. A Lord's Favor II

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ T _ _ he thunderous sound of a bell resonated  _ throughout Orzammar, signaling the beginning of the evening hours. Still, the streets were as lively as before, the night doing nothing to slow the dwarves. Some stood by the criers, listening to the latest updates on the election of their new king, while others were already making their way to the arena, where the Proving was to take place.

The Wardens were leaving the inn after leaving Bjorn behind and picking up some of their other companions. Any fight could go awry, even one that was supposedly moderated. Having additional arms ready may have been necessary.

“Still keeping the sword, I see,” Zevran said, walking beside her with fingers laced behind his head.

“Yes… Our sparring sessions helped me find a bit of speed by adjusting my strategy. I think that will suffice.” 

“I'm glad they helped…” he uttered with a sympathetic smile. “I heard about that blade’s emotional significance.”

“The sword isn’t important to me only because of my family’s loss… It also drives me.” She gazed ahead, her eyes growing distant as the picture of her deceased loved ones crossed her mind. “I can’t wait to use it on the filthy rat who took them from me.”

“I see...” He frowned at the murderous glint in her eyes, realizing that sometimes instead of finding it attractive, it actually made him rather nervous.

“Is no one else questioning that we are on our way to influence the political process of an entire kingdom?” Morrigan voiced in a critical tone, sauntering just a few steps behind Everil.

Alistair shot her an annoyed glare. “We don’t have any other options.”

“Why not simply leave? We are wasting precious time playing this game,” Morrigan griped with a look that mirrored his. “Were I the one leading, we would’ve defeated the Blight by now.”

“Of course!” Alistair dramatically smacked his palm against his forehead. “What have we been thinking? We should've just left  _ all  _ the important decisions and  _ all  _ the talking to you. Someone who's almost never left the Korcari Wilds or held a meaningful conversation with anyone other than her mother. How foolish of us."

She pinned him with a dark gaze. “I happen to have better speech etiquette than you, Alistair.”

“Fine, I admit I’m not the best at talking. But at least I don't shrink away from a simple handshake like some... crazy person.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes, wondering why she even bothered having any type of discussion with such an infuriating man.

They neared the building, pushing past those filtering in through wide metal doors. Dulin awaited them at the center of the grand hall preceding the arena. An old, bearded dwarf stood next to him, arms folded over his chest. 

“Good to see you again, Wardens,” Dulin greeted with a nod of his head, then gestured to the old man. “This is the Proving Master. He will brief you on what is involved and inform you each time a match begins. There are two others supporting us who will fight alongside you at one point, so expect to meet them soon.”

Everil nodded. “Got it.”

“Remember, Lord Harrowmont will be watching and so will I. Good luck to you.” With that he made for a room across from where they stood, leaving them with the other dwarf. 

“All right then…” The Proving Master gazed at them, pulling a scroll from his belt. “I don’t know if you were told but only one of you can participate in the Proving at this time. So who will it be?”

“I will do it.”

Alistair’s head snapped towards her. “Wait… You won't even ask for my opinion on this one? How come you get to have all the fun?”

She smirked playfully. “I am the leader, you know.”

“You’re pretty quick to bring that up every time you want something done your way...” he muttered, frowning at her.

“Because I can.”

“So not fair…”

“Very well.” The Proving Master interrupted their banter. “What’s your name, Warden?”

“Everil Cousland.”

“Understood. I will notify you before the matches begin. In the meantime, be ready. Your companions will have to watch from the stands over there.” He used the quilt to point left at a nearby door, through which some of the citizens were already entering. Then he went in the same direction Dulin previously took.

Zevran patted Everil's shoulder. “Remember what we practiced, now."

“Yes, yes. I know,” she replied with a smile.

He and Morrigan began to head towards the spectator area, while Alistair hesitated. “Be careful in there. This is politics, not your usual tourney. You never know who’s going to be playing dirty.” 

“I know. I’ll keep my guard up.” She smiled reassuringly, then gestured with her head to Zevran and an irritated Morrigan, who were both waiting for him by the doors. “Now, go with the others before the good seats are taken.”

“All right…” Alistair sighed and gave her cheek a gentle kiss before joining their companions. He ignored the assassin’s teasing grin and the witch’s eye roll as they entered the stands.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The four of them climbed the steps, crossing the row of seats closest to the arena. And although there were open spots, they settled for standing over the stone railing, gazing down at the soon-to-be battleground. The crowd’s chatter filled the room, joined by the clanks of beer mugs as the dwarves drank and laughed.

“Oi... You one of the Grey Wardens?”

Alistair looked down towards the rough voice, seeing a red-headed dwarf with a thick, braided mustache staring back up at him, a pint of ale in one hand. He wore iron-plated armor that had clearly seen combat, dirt, and wear visible in some places. A great axe was strapped to the dwarf’s back, the only thing that seemed to be well taken care of.

“I am, yes…”

“How many of ya’ are there?"

“Uhm... There's two of us,” he answered with a knitted brow, puzzled by the questions. 

“Just two?” He scrunched up his flushed face in concentration, scratching the thick beard on his fat chin. “Hrm…”

Seeing the odd look the Warden was giving him, the dwarf's expression lit up into a drunken grin as he extended his hand for a handshake. "Ah, where are my sodded manners? Name's Oghren. Heard one of ya will be fighting in the Proving tonight, so I just had to see for myself.”

“I’m Alistair.” He shook his hand, still finding the conversation rather strange.

“Good to make your acquaintance!" Oghren laughed, then took a drawn-out drink from his ale. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but foam still clung to his mustache. “You lot’re said to be some tough sons of bitches. I can't wait for it to start.”

Alistair shifted uncomfortably next to him, seeing him pour himself another pint from a nearby barrel—one of many set up in different sections of the stands. Oghren turned to him once more. “Want one?”

“N-No, thanks…”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged and took another long gulp before belching loudly and wiping his mouth again.

“It appears they are as unrefined as the rock they live in...” Zevran commented wryly from beside him.

“Yeah…” Alistair agreed quietly, still giving the drunken dwarf an awkward smile.

The beating of a drum echoed throughout the arena as the Proving Master walked into the platform overseeing the field. “Welcome to tonight's Proving!” His booming voice silenced everyone, all eyes upon him. “Where the best warriors in Orzammar demonstrate their might!”

“Yes! It's starting!” Oghren said excitedly before taking a drink, accidentally spilling ale over himself.

The Proving Master continued. “On this night we shall witness the great battles between mighty champions! All of which will be fighting in the name of those who seek the throne to our kingdom! Prince Bhelen and Lord Harrowmont!”

The spectators cheered.

“Now! For the first battle...! On this side, Prince Bhelen's first Champion! Seweryn! The man who defeated his own father at the age of twelve and has been victorious in many of our past Provings!” The Proving Master pointed a finger to the doors on the right side of the arena and the iron gate slid up as if releasing a pack of lions, revealing a heavily armored dwarf. The people cheered, chanting the man's name and stomping their feet to the beat of the battle drum playing for the fighters.

He then pointed to the left side. “And on this side, we have a special participant! Fighting in Lord Harrowmont's name...!”

The gates opened and Everil calmly emerged, causing the room to turn silent. Her steps echoed in the chamber as she walked forth with confidence, steely blue eyes staring across at her opponent.

“From the famed Grey Wardens, Everil Cousland!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, banging their empty pints against the nearest surface.

“Ancestor's balls... A woman?" Oghren's puzzled gaze shifted up to Alistair. “I had no idea you people recruited women.”

“Well, we do, and she's our leader too," Alistair responded, smiling as he gazed upon her from above.

Everil sauntered to the center of the arena, stopping over a mark on the ground as the other fighter did the same.

“Didn’t think my first opponent would be a woman, but I know of many who can put down a bronto—one the mightiest beasts we have here in the deep,” Seweryn told her with his chin held high, drawing a blade and shield. “Show me what you've got, Warden.”

She smiled, arming herself. “Likewise.”

The Proving Master raised a hand and the room grew quiet once more. "Let the match begin!" he called out, swinging down.

Seweryn readied his shield and began to circle her, hard gaze focused on her as she did the same, sizing him up. The dwarf charged first, letting out a cry with his sword raised high. Everil waited for him as he came, and then he struck. She swiftly leaned to evade it, then backed up just as he swung back around. He used his shield, trying to hit her, but she put her hand on it, using it to nimbly propel herself into a forward flip. She landed behind him and whirled around, slashing at him from behind.

Their blades met as he turned to face her. “Good moves you got!”

“Thanks!” Everil grinned and withdrew before he attacked again, slashing only air. 

Seweryn struck up at her chest, Everil avoided it, then he tried to get her legs, but she hopped into a backflip. He brought his blade down as she landed, she saw it coming, deflecting it. He continued to strike, attempting to land a hit, and she could tell he was growing more impatient each time he failed. But while he probably thought she was mocking him, her real intention was to find an opening.

And she did.

Seweryn slashed up, she ducked, swiftly kicking forth and bringing a leg around underneath him. She took out his legs, dropping him heavily onto his back. And before he knew it, she was on top of him, blade at his neck. “What…” He gazed up at her, eyes wide as saucers.

Some gasps were heard in the room, and the Proving Master raised both arms. “The winner of this match! The Grey Warden!”

The crowd, Zevran, and Alistair cheered, pumping a fist in the air. Meanwhile, Morrigan simply watched, a pleased smile on her lips and her arms crossed. Oghren laughed, raising his pint as if making a toast. “Impressive shit right there!”

Alistair and his companions glanced at him as the dwarf took another gulp of his ale, the witch sending him a disgusted grimace.

Still shaken, Seweryn stood and sheathed his weapons. She did the same, and after an acknowledging nod of their heads, she saw him walk out of the arena through the same gates from which he came.

“Let the battles continue!” 

Everil gazed up to the Proving Master and returned to the mark on the ground, arms folded as she patiently waited for him to announce her next opponent.

“The next two champions representing Prince Bhelen!”

The gates began to open again and two dwarves stepped in, one female and one male. The Proving Master continued. “They battle as one and live as one! The twins Lucjan and Myaja!”

More cheers came as the siblings made their way to their mark, one a warrior and the other a duelist rogue. 

“Two of them…?” Alistair frowned, hands on the railing. “That’s not a fair fight…”

“They were born from the same womb and claim to share the same soul,” Oghren uttered as they eyed the siblings walk side by side. “Guess that makes them an exception to the one on one rule. Sodding cheaters...”

“She can handle it,” Zevran said confidently.

The twins stopped and everyone went quiet. Everil’s gaze didn’t waver despite the slight disadvantage she now faced. 

“May the stone honor you—” Myaja began with a snide smile, drawing her blade and shield. “—when you fall.” Lucjan finished, pulling out his daggers. 

The Warden smirked at their taunting words. Clearly they thought they could defeat her. But she would prove them wrong. She unfolded her arms and drew her blades. “May the dirt taste good when I feed it to you.”

The signal from the Proving Master came and the twins wasted no time to charge. Everil dodged Myaja’s sword, then was forced to backflip to avoid Lucjan’s dagger. She backed away several steps, evading another stream of synchronized attacks by the twins. Despite their different fighting styles, the two moved in unison, each attack flowing without pause. 

With a grunt, Everil rolled out of the way of another slash from Myaja, and then while still on a knee, brought up her weapons to block her brother’s daggers. Movement behind him made Everil snap her head up in time to see Myaja jump over his shoulder, leading with a kick. It all happened so quickly she could barely react. Everil leaned back to dodge the hit, but the dwarf’s armored boot still connected with the corner of lips, her teeth piercing the inside of her cheek as she went with the hit, rolling and avoiding the brunt of the force.

Wincing, Everil pushed herself up to her feet, tasting copper. She spit blood onto the dirt and licked her split lip. The two dwarves laughed.

“Ooh! They got her that time!” Oghren grinned and took a drink.

“Bastards…” Alistair muttered angrily. “Of course they would land a hit. She’s fighting two on one against skilled warriors.”

“No, she got sloppy,” Zevran commented, drawing his attention as the elf leaned casually over the rail. “She should have deflected and evaded, they wouldn’t have hurt her then. Her mind still favors the training she was raised with—it is difficult to switch so quickly without making a mistake or two along the way. And I am sure my lady knows this too.”

“Oh...” Alistair’s gaze returned to the arena. “Well, if that’s the case, then those dwarves are about to find out they’re the ones who made the mistake.”

Zevran smirked. “Indeed, my friend…”

After they were done laughing, Myaja arrogantly snickered at the Warden. “Shame… You have such a pretty face.”

Everil wiped red from her chin, pinning them with a glare that could freeze the molten rivers of Orzammar. “Celebrate while you can... You will not touch me again.”

“We’ll see about that.” Lucjan dropped to his fighting stance. 

Both dwarves attacked again as she continued to block and deflect, and Everil realized then that the best way to beat them was to break their pattern and stop being conservative. She avoided another slash from Myaja while sheathing her dagger, then used her now free hand to grab onto her wrist, preventing her from following through with her next attack. She bought herself enough time to kick her brother’s face, breaking his nose and sending him falling onto his back. 

Myaja growled and whirled around, releasing herself from her hold and proceeding to unleash another string of attacks. Everil avoided a sideways slash, then ducked, kicking at the back of her leg. The dwarf cried out and dropped on a knee, blindly striking. Everil went low and sliced upward at the unprotected area between her arm plating and her chest plate. Myaja cried out in pain, losing her grip on the sword before Everil kicked at her chest, knocking her down.

“Myaja!” Lucjan charged and swung with one blade and then the other; she deflected both attacks with Elethea. He struck a third time, Everil moved just enough for him to miss, then slammed his gut with a knee. Lucjan’s legs went weak, finding himself stunned and gasping for air. She wasted no time, bringing down her sword’s pommel and striking him across the face. The hit landed so hard he spun to the ground, instantly out cold.

“The winner is the Grey Warden!” 

Clamoring cries erupted once more as those watching chanted her name and title in a drunken mantra.

“Everil! Everil!” 

“Warden! Warden!”

“Wooh! There was some bloodshed on this one. Let’s keep ‘em going!” Oghren called out and then gazed up to Alistair with a wide grin. “Your boss lady’s pretty good! I can see why she’s the one calling the shots.”

Alistair gave him a brief smile. “Thanks.” 

Chest slightly heaving, Everil gazed up to the spectators, wondering who her next opponent would be. Once the previous champions were cleared from the arena, she once again stood over her mark.

“We have one more opponent before recess time!” The Proving Master pointed towards the gates again. “She cut her own tongue to emulate Paragon Astyth the Grey! And she is now fighting in the name of Prince Bhelen, as a member of the Silent Sisters! Sister Hanashan!” 

The gates opened and a heavily armored female warrior stepped into the arena, carrying a great sword on to her back. 

“Cut off her own tongue in the name of some long-dead Paragon… A little extreme, no?” Zevran muttered, slightly impressed.

“Dwarves certainly have an interesting fascination with their dead,” Morrigan said with mild amusement. 

Hanasha paused in her stride, casting a stony look upon the Grey Warden. Everil gave her a single nod of acknowledgment, her expression nearly mirroring hers. The two drew their weapons. 

“Begin!”

Hanasha brought down her sword, driving Everil to jump sideways to dodge as the massive blade hit the ground, sending dirt and rocks flying in all directions. She then dragged it over the dirt towards the Warden, and up in an upward swing. Everil backflipped, the edge narrowly missing her feet. The warrior followed through with a downward strike, forcing her to bring up her blades for a block. 

Everil gritted her teeth when their weapons collided, the force and weight of the clash bringing her to a knee. Hanasha gazed down at her blankly, putting more pressure into her weapon and on her. With a roar, Everil pushed up just enough to give herself room, then rolled, Hanasha’s blade slamming to the ground once more. 

The Warden rushed forward, slashing at her. Hanasha blocked with a gauntlet, then swung the sword around with the other hand. Everil deflected the hit, dashed, and lept, avoiding a horizontal strike and using her shoulder to boost herself forward into a flip. She landed firmly on her feet, and as Hanasha twisted her body to face her, Everil brought her dagger around. 

Both froze. 

A thin red line appeared on Hanasha’s neck, a drop of blood sliding down as Everil’s blade barely pierced her skin. But the pressure was there, and she knew that if the Warden so wanted it, her blood would have been painting the dirt.

“The winner is the Grey Warden!”

The crowd cheered once more, slamming their pints against the rock. The Proving Master continued. “The first matches have ended with every victory going to Lord Harrowmont’s champion, Grey Warden Everil! Please remain in the room for the matches coming up after the recess!”

Panting, Everil sheathed her weapons, offering Hanasha a half-smile. “Good fight...”

Hanasha dipped her head to her, a nearly imperceptible lift at the corner of her lips. Then the gates at both sides opened and both women made their way out of the arena.


	17. A Lord's Favor III

⚜

  
  
  


_ R _ _ eleasing a breath, Everil stepped  _ out into the hall and wiped sweat from her brow. Darkspawn fought well in numbers, but their individual tactics were primitive and predictable while fighting against a skilled, seasoned fighter was completely different and more tasking—especially when dwarves were renowned for their physical prowess and expert abilities. Their entire culture revolved around pride, the honoring of ancestors, and their caste, pushing each dwarf to be the best at their individual traits. That she was able to win all matches thus far was considered an accomplishment, one even she was proud of. 

The sound of footsteps drew her eyes to her approaching companions. “I was wondering if they were ever going to give you a breather,” Alistair called as he and the others made their way to her.

“I admit I was wondering that myself.” She attempted to smile, wincing a little at the dull ache it caused. Damn those dwarves. 

Taking notice of her discomfort, he came closer and gently tilted her chin. He inspected the bruise and her broken lip with a subtle frown. “Does it hurt?”

“It's nothing. I've had worse,” she assured him.

“Allow me to have a look.” Morrigan reached into her bag and produced one of their potions along with a clean rag. She poured the red liquid onto it as Everil faced her, letting her dab at the injury. The pain gradually dissipated, the tender spots going numb.

“Thank you, Morrigan.”

The witch's yellow stare briefly met hers. “You are welcome...”

“Good work down there, Warden. Lord Harrowmont was quite impressed,” came Dulin's deep voice as he strode towards them, hands clasped behind his back. “I’m afraid I bring bad news, however.”

“What is it?” Everil raised a hand to halt Morrigan, giving Dulin her full attention.

“Our other champions have unexpectedly dropped from the Proving.”

“Huh? Do you know why?”

“No, but we think Prince Bhelen was responsible for it. The last match involves two of his men, but unlike the ones you fought before, these are the best of the best under his command. That’s why we wanted three of ours to even the odds…” He huffed. “Now, with our fighters gone, you will have to face them on your own. Not an easy task.” 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Alistair promptly interjected. “Can I join her instead?”

“Yes, you can. Simply inform the Proving Master before the next match begins.”

Everil smiled at Dulin. “Thanks for telling us about this.”

“Of course. It would not do if you lost. So let’s keep up the good work.” He gave her a single, firm nod. “One more thing... After this is over, meet me at the tavern in the Commons, it's nearby so you can't miss it. We will discuss matters there.” Dulin spun about and headed back the way he came, entering the private alcove where his lord was seated.

“How very honorable of that Bhelen worm… trying to cheat his way through,” Morrigan muttered with distaste, her free hand at her hip. It seemed even the dwarves were as despicable as the humans on the surface.

“My dear… Has there ever been honesty amongst those inspiring for power?” Zevran asked, sending her a sideward grin.

“No. I suppose not...” 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Ah, this feels better...” Alistair sighed as they descended the ramp leading to the arena. It was a tunnel of sorts, illuminated by the light coming from the gate ahead.

“What does?” Everil glanced at him.

“Fighting with you instead of just watching from the sidelines. Not a big fan of that.”

“Why? Because you were missing out?”

“That and it's been a lifelong dream of mine to beat up some small, angry people in front of an entire crowd of small, drunken people.”

She laughed in amusement, shaking her head.

The beat of the battle drums erupted from the arena once more, a prelude to the last fight of the night. The pair sobered, staring past the iron bars at the battlefield beyond. And then the booming voice of the Proving Master reached their ears. “On this side, fighting in the name of Lord Harrowmont! The ongoing winner of tonight’s Proving and her comrade in arms! Grey Wardens Everil and Alistair!”

“Ready…?” Everil asked as the gates opened for them.

“Yep. Let’s kick some dwarven arse...” he muttered as they stepped forth.

The spectators erupted into cheers the moment they saw them, fervently chanting their Grey Warden title. Meanwhile, Oghren observed from above, a grin splitting his face. “Ah, so he’s joining in on this one. Even better.” 

“And on this side! Fighting in the name of Prince Bhelen! A member of the House of Ivo and master of arms! Known for using a different weapon in every Proving! Wojech Ivo and his second in command, Velanz!”

The two dwarves stalked to their side of the arena. Velanz twirled his two daggers as he followed his master, wearing hardened leather. Wojech was clad in iron plate armor, a great helm covering his face. He drew his sword and shield, his deep voice traveling over the sound of the crowd. “Prince Bhelen will plant his throne on your trampled corpses.” 

“Only in your dreams,” Everil replied coolly, blades at the ready.

“Begin!” came the Proving Master's booming signal.

Wojech raised his blade to engage Everil, but Alistair ran between them and blocked with his sword. “Sorry, but I’ll be your opponent, not her.” He smiled down at him, knowing he was the heavy hitter and more likely to break through the dwarf’s heavy armor.

“I'll take the other one!” Everil charged at Velanz, running past them.

Metal screeched over metal as Alistair parried the dwarf’s sword, then slashed downward. Wojech blocked with his shield, shoved against his sword, and swung sideways, hitting the Warden’s shield. Alistair thrust, the dwarf bent to dodge, then sidestepped to avoid another slash. Their swords clashed, both fighters on even ground. 

Everil ducked, dodging a slash, then struck sideways, deflecting another hit. More slashes came as Velanz unleashed a string of attacks. The Warden deflected and blocked, backing up a step with each hit. 

“You’re mine, Warden!” The dwarf jumped, bringing both daggers upon her. Everil clicked her tongue and lept out of the way, his weapons impaling the dirt. She spun, bringing her leg around, delivering a hard kick to his face and sending him to the ground. He rose with effort, growling and with a burning jaw, raising his blades just in time to block her sword. Their weapons clashed a few times, then he backflipped to dodge a slash. But Everil kept coming, giving him no quarter. With a roar, Valenz deflected her blade, then struck at her side. She swung up with her dagger, knocking his attack off course. Another kick connected with his face, dizzying him. Then a third came, this time sending him sliding over the dirt, out cold. 

Alistair swung with his shield, hitting the dwarf’s head and knocking off his helmet.

“You sodded maggot!” Wojech bit out dizzily and charged at him, crying out a roar.

“Aw… You’re angry? But I did you a favor!” Alistair taunted as they locked blades. “You really shouldn’t hide that majestic beard of yours!”

“Shut up!” he shot back, arm shaking with the tension. 

But despite his effort, Alistair overpowered him, forcing his weapon aside and striking him with his shield once more. The dwarf stumbled, and using the opportunity he’d created, Alistair struck at his sword, sending it flying off his hand and out of reach. Wojech froze in shock when the cold edge of the Warden’s blade touched his neck. 

“Yield. You lost,” Alistair proclaimed, all humor in his tone gone. The dwarf gave him a severe look in return but dropped his shield nonetheless.

The Proving Master announced the winner. “The victory belongs to the Grey Wardens! Lord Harrowmont's brave fighters!" 

The crowd roared, lifting their ale up high. Oghren watched in a quiet stupor as the two Wardens took down their opponents with ease, making the champions in the Proving look like anything but. Then a smirk slowly spread over his drunken features. For he knew that in spite of there only being two, they had exactly what it takes to help him. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

After leaving the arena, the Grey Wardens and their companions headed towards the tavern, where Dulin waited for them inside. The place was slightly dark, dimly lit by gem lamps and candles. Merry music was played in the background, a sharp contrast to the coarse mannerisms of everyone in Orzammar. In the distance, some dwarves danced while others clapped, pausing just long enough to drink their ale. Others laughed from their tables, engaged in conversation as they discussed that night’s events at the Proving.

The Wardens could barely walk through without receiving gestures of congratulations or flirtatious howls. Alistair and Everil could only smile awkwardly and return the handshakes as they moved along. 

Dulin waved at them from one of the tables. “Good work out there tonight!” he complimented over the music, motioning for them to take a seat. “I thought we could celebrate while we talk.”

“I take it Lord Harrowmont is pleased?” Everil inquired as they sat.

“More than pleased. He’s invited you to visit his household in the morn,” he replied, waving at one of the barmaids.

“Good.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “What should we expect at that meeting tomorrow?”

“He’ll discuss with you what he needs in order to win the crown, and then he will send you on some—” He cleared his throat. “—errands in his name. Just know that the election is far from over and we will need your ongoing support to get things done.”

“It almost sounds like he’s about to send us out to kill someone,” Alistair said from beside her, hands clasped together over the table.

Dulin let out a laugh. “If he does, it wouldn’t be someone who doesn’t deserve it. Let's leave it at that for now.”

“Heh… Because that makes it so much better.”

“Don't worry, Warden. You can still decline his offer once you talk to him. Though, I would not recommend it. Considering Prince Bhelen already saw you fighting on our side...” Dulin deliberately brought his pint to his lips and took a drink as the barmaid placed more ale before them. 

“Oh, great… So that was your goal, after all,” Alistair muttered, then let out a sigh.

“I suppose we'll have to wait and see.” Everil glanced up at him, patting his forearm, before gazing down at the amber liquid within her cup. “Might as well just roll with it for now.”

“That's right!” Dulin elbowed her arm with an uncharacteristic grin, cheeks flaring from inebriation. “Enjoy tonight. Drinks are on me. You deserve it.”

She shrugged and lifted the cup, while Alistair and Zevran did the same. Morrigan ignored the ale, with her chin on one hand and a bored expression on her face.

“Wait!” Zevran slammed his cup down, extending an arm to stop both Wardens. 

Alistair lowered his drink. “What—?”

A loud thud made everyone turn their heads to Everil, their eyes wide upon seeing her face-down on the table.

Zevran smiled helplessly. “Too late…”

“H-Hey!” A panicking Alistair wrapped an arm around her shoulders and shook her, receiving an incoherent mumble as a response. He shot the dwarf an accusing glare. “What did you do to her!”

“Nothing!” Dulin laughed heartily. “Your friend just had the best dwarven ale Orzammar has to offer!”

“So she’s…?”Alistair’s anger faded into bewilderment.

“Ow…” Everil whimpered numbly, slowly lifting her head and placing a hand over her aching brow. She let out a heavy huff, pouting her lips moodily. “That hurt…”

“Drunk,” Morrigan completed for him, mildly amused by her flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes.

Zevran grinned mischievously. “More than drunk. Dwarven ale is the strongest there is. Not even a grown, burly man can handle it.”

Groaning, Everil pushed herself to her feet, drawing everyone’s attention once more. She shakily put her hands on the table and gave each of them a strange look, trying to focus, yet seeing double. Mumbling something else, she attempted to get out of the bench, spinning and stumbling forward. Alistair reacted, wrapping his arm around her waist, keeping her from hitting the ground. 

“Everil, just stay still...” he coaxed gently.

“Hrm… There’s a genlock… there…” she muttered, head hanging as her hair hid her drunken features from the others. Her arm went up, finger extended and pointing at the nearest dwarf, only for it to fall back down. “Bjorn... fetch…” And then her entire body went limp, succumbing to both the ale and the exhaustion she’d felt since arriving in the city.

A light snore reached his ears and Alistair couldn’t help but chuckle. “I guess the party’s already over…”

He slid off the bench and carefully adjusted her body, shifting the familiar weight onto his arms while rising to his feet. Her head lolled to the side, resting against his shoulder as another mumble escaped her.

“Aw…Look,” Zevran chortled. “She’s out for the count...”

Alistair sighed and gazed at Dulin. “Erm… Tell Harrowmont we’ll be there. And... thanks for the ale.”

He nodded. “Of course, Warden.”

Alistair then addressed the others. “Let’s go. I think we all deserve some rest.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Zevran replied as he stretched and stifled a yawn, walking behind him while Morrigan quietly followed. 

Dulin watched the group leave the tavern, releasing a throaty chuckle, shaking his head. “Beat every champion in the Proving, instantly defeated by a single drink of ale. Such a curious woman.” 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Thankfully the trip from the tavern to the inn was relatively short. They split up upon arriving, each of them heading for their own rooms. Zevran made his usual snarky remarks about the two Wardens sleeping together while Morrigan had simply gone her way without a word. The rest seemed to already be asleep, something he expected considering their long trip and the late time of the night in which the Proving ended. 

Alistair opened the door and was promptly greeted by the mabari hound. The anxious Bjorn whined up at him, sniffing Everil's boot and following him closely as he carried her to the bed. “Don’t worry, boy. She’s just sleeping,” Alistair quietly assured the dog, trying not to wake her. At which Bjorn sniffed the air and sat by the bed, watching him gently lay his mistress over it.

He gave her a quick once over, carefully brushing her bangs from her eyes. With a tired breath, he proceeded to remove his armor. Expert hands unclasped the heavy metal plates from his sore body, making as little sound as possible. He rid himself of his gambeson, then his shirt, and finally his boots, setting everything atop a nearby table in neat piles. He left his trousers on for modesty's sake.

After finishing with his gear, Alistair reached down to remove her weapons as she slept, smiling a little at her light snores. He unbuckled her chest piece, setting it on a chair before undoing her gambeson’s buckles. Slowly and carefully, he sat her up to take off the thick coat. But her arms wrapped around his neck, surprising him and preventing him from completing the job. “Alistair…?” he heard her whimper as she nuzzled his jawline.

“Yeah?”

“Make love to me...” she whispered, her hot breath against his skin.

A shudder shook him and his mouth ran dry at her sensual request.

“Uhm…” He swallowed, her words bringing forth an almost overwhelming urge to comply. To obey all of her desires and please her until she lay spent in his arms. The small piece of reason left in him stopped him, however, keeping him from caving to her drunken plea. Their current relationship was still relatively new. He wouldn’t betray her trust by possibly taking advantage of her in such a state. And even if this were truly what she wanted, the way she’d just passed out told him that she was in dire need of rest.

Taking a firm hold of his resolve, Alistair steeled himself and brought his hands to her shoulders. “We can't…” He gently separated her from him. “Not tonight.”

“Why?” She pursed her lips.

Alistair smiled weakly at those flushed cheeks and large blue eyes, her expression reminding him of a child whose playtime had been denied. “Because you're drunk and we're both exhausted.”

Everil ran her index finger down his chiseled chest, teasingly licking her still sore lip. It traveled down to his hard abs, leaving a fiery trail in its wake. She went past his navel and toyed with the string of his trousers, fluttering thick lashes up at him. “So?”

“I... uhm…” he croaked, promptly taking her hand to stop her. Alistair cleared his throat, putting on the best stern look he could muster. “So we should sleep... Now, let me help you with your armor.”

“Fine…” Everil tried to glare at him, but a wide yawn interrupted her. She obediently allowed him to take off the rest of her coat and cargo bags. Leaning back on her hands, she watched him fold her gear and place it on a chair next to the bed. He then reached for her boots, his long fingers unbuckling the straps. 

Half-lidded eyes focused on him, struggling to ignore how the room spun around her. But in spite of the strange, nauseating feeling, her disappointment remained. “How odd…” she muttered pitifully. “I usually get my way…”

He stopped and his surprised eyes met hers before the brief pause was followed by his throaty chuckle. “You sound like a spoiled brat...” he jibbed with a shake of his head, reverting to his task.

“Well, I was one...” she admitted.

“Obviously…”

Her drunken giggles brought a smile to his face as he took off her boots, setting them on the ground. He rose and pulled up the sheets, covering her legs before making his way around to his side of the bed. Everil’s eyes followed him as he lay beside her. “Can I not change your mind…?”

“Nope...” Alistair rolled onto his side to face her, then wrapped a strong arm around her belly, urging her to lie down with him. With a dejected expression, she obliged, flopping onto the bed and drawing another chuckle from him. She turned and cuddled closer to his chest, relaxing completely in his arms. Then her eyes slid shut and she drifted off to sleep almost instantly.

He gently stroked her hair, listening to her steady breathing. After a moment, he pulled back, just far enough to gaze upon her delicate features. His eyes softened at how deceptively vulnerable she looked, completely at the mercy of everything around her. Maker, he wanted so badly to protect her. To keep her safe no matter the cost—a feeling he knew may one day conflict with their oath if he wasn’t careful.

She released a soft whimper, her face scrunching as the nightmares began to creep up on her. Alistair held her to him, tenderly nuzzling her hair in an attempt to soothe her. If only he could make it all fade away. If only they could live in a world free of monsters and death. Just the two of them. Far away from everything and everyone. If only... 


	18. A Lord's Favor IV

⚜

  
  
  


_ I _ _ t was difficult to follow the passing _ of time in Orzammar. And it wasn't only because the sky was not visible, but also because dwarves were active regardless of what time it was. The resounding bell of the morning echoed throughout the inside of the mountain, announcing the beginning of a new day to those within. A sound Everil didn't quite welcome at the moment.

“Damn it…” she uttered, a hand on her aching head.

“Someone had a bit too much fun last night,”Zevran teased while walking beside her, grinning at the annoyed look she gave him.

“I wish you would’ve warned us about the ale before we entered the tavern,” Everil grumbled tiredly, walking ahead of their group. She took the same companions from the day before since they were the ones Lord Harrowmont had seen with them previously. There was no way she would risk shaking the dwarven lord’s delicate trust after all they’d done to earn it.

“I didn't know you were a drinker.” Zevran casually laced his fingers behind his head.

“I’m not... I was just attempting to appeal to Dulin,” she muttered and then let out an annoyed sigh. “Instead, I managed to embarrass myself before the top lieutenant of perhaps the future King of Orzammar.”

“Oh, don't be so hard on yourself. If anything, I believe you earned his respect. You handled dwarven ale far better than most.” The elf let out a laugh. “Most people would have puked their guts out and passed out. You just did the passing out part.”

“That’s because Grey Wardens don't get drunk easily,” Alistair interjected, then gave Everil a lopsided smile. “It would take a great deal of regular ale to get you as drunk as you were last night, and even then you’d be sober within a few hours.”

“Is that the reason why you Grey Wardens make your own liquor?” Zevran asked curiously. “I heard your order makes some of the best, but you must be a Warden to drink it.”

“Yes. We have to make our own because the normal stuff doesn't work as well on us,” Alistair replied, then shifted his eyes back to her. “Though it seems nothing we make is as strong as what you had.” 

“Can we please change the subject?” Everil mumbled with a grimace, trying to stop the throbbing. 

Alistair gently patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll feel better soon.” 

The sound of heavy footsteps had them turn towards a group of well-armed dwarves approaching them. They blocked their path, all glaring at them through their helmets. “How dare you go against our prince!” one of them shouted as they broke into a run, weapons above their heads.

Morrigan scowled, bringing forth a wall of fire that halted their charge. The dwarves stalled, surprised by the sudden use of magic.“They have a mage!” another one called.

Everil, Alistair, and Zevran drew their blades, advancing towards them as Morrigan’s flames dimmed down. The Warden brought her sword upon them, grunting when one deflected it with his axe. She twisted her body in time to dodge his counter attack, then used his slower movement to her advantage. Her arm shot forth, stopping just as her blade touched his neck while her other hand grabbed on to his weapon.

“Stop this now or we’ll be forced to kill you,” she warned, glaring at him as the dwarf met her gaze with a matching expression.

“I would die proudly for my prince, surfacer!” he cried out.

Everil slashed his throat, crimson spraying over the stone floor. One by one, the group of Bhelen supporters was cut down, their blood pooling over the ground while the people around them stopped to watch. As soon as it was over, guards ran down to where they stood. They looked at the carnage and then looked at them. One of them approached them and folded his arms. “Who started it?”

“They did. And you can ask the people standing around us. They will say the same,” Everil responded, unthreatened by them. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have much to do.” With that, the Warden turned around to continue their walk while her companions followed. The guard didn't stop them, shifting his attention back to the bodies as his comrades began to clean up the area. He then gazed towards the spectators, waving an arm at them. “All right. Keep on walking, all of you.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

  
  


Dulin had been waiting for them when they arrived at the lord’s estate, a large home built into the mountain walls. It was decorated lavishly, with metals and jewels accentuating every piece of furniture. The owner already lived as if he were a king, now it remained to be seen if he had the qualities required to be one.

The lord's lieutenant led them to a study, which was illuminated by a chimney at the far side. An old dwarf stood before it, hands clasped behind his back. Sensing their presence, he faced them, casting kind eyes upon them. “Welcome to my homestead, Grey Wardens,” Lord Harrowmont greeted them before Dulin could announce them, then nodded his head to him. Dulin respectfully put a fist to his chest and left the room, leaving the four travelers with his lord.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Harrowmont.” Everil dipped her head to him in a greeting of her own.

“Likewise, Warden. I appreciate your patience thus far. I hope you can understand why we had to be cautious before our meeting.” He sat down on an ornate chair and motioned for her to take a seat on the smaller one across from him.

“We understand. We ran into some of Prince Bhelen’s supporters on the way here and were forced to defend ourselves against them… So to speak.” Everil accepted the offer, sitting down while Alistair walked up to stand beside her. Meanwhile, Morrigan and Zevran watched the conversation from where they stood.

Harrowmont leaned back with a grave expression. “It's unfortunate you had to soil your hands in this matter, my lady. But I wish I could tell you it won't happen again.”

“Are you still referring to them or is there something more?” she replied with a small smile, casually crossing her legs and resting her hands over her lap.

He ran his fingers down his snow-white mustache with a sigh. “Have you ever heard of the Carta?”

“I cannot say I have, no.”

“They are a network of criminals ran by dwarves, who involve themselves in the smuggling of goods such as lyrium, stolen items, and even slaves. They have business relations across many countries, Ferelden included.” He shifted his gaze to the fire, narrowing his eyes. “Truly despicable people.”

Everil frowned, now recalling who they were. They were criminals even common bandits wouldn’t dare cross. “Are they becoming involved in Orzammar’s politics?”

“In a way.” He returned his gaze to her. “There is a Carta group creating trouble across many of our businesses. Threatening our shop owners and asking for coin in exchange for protection. It has become a serious problem for everyone.” His wise stare then hardened into a scowl. “Jarvia is their leader. Taking her out, along with her Carta, will show the people that I can offer immediate solutions to our problems.”

“And you want for us to do the work for you,” Alistair said uncomfortably.

Harrowmont pressed his lips together and nodded.

“What are we? Errand boys?” Morrigan muttered with distaste for the situation.

“I see no problem with it," Zevran shrugged with a bored expression.

“Says the man who was originally hired to kill the Grey Wardens.

Everil shot the two a glare at their rudeness, effectively silencing them. She then returned her attention to Harrowmont and gave him a firm look. “Very well… If it will help you win the crown, then we’ll do this for you. However, there is something I want before we go.” She rose from her seat and took a step forward, gazing down at him with an unwavering stare. “You must give me your word, that once this is over, you will give us your armies to fight the Blight.”

Harrowmont's widened eyes stared up at her, suddenly finding her youthful appearance deceiving. Whoever she was, the Warden was certainly someone not to be trifled with. He slowly stood, offering her his wrinkled hand. “You have my word, Warden.”

Her stern expression melted into a small smile as she shook on it. “Good. Do you have any suggestions on where to start searching for this Jarvia?”

“Ask around the shops in the market. You’re bound to run into information there.”

“Understood. We'll return with news when it is done,” Everil said as she turned on her heel and began walking back the way they came, the others following behind her. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The market area of Orzammar was bustling with activity. Jewel stands glimmered with handcrafted necklaces, bracelets and other trinkets made out of stones farmed right out of the mountain. Armor shops and weapon stands showcased their inventory, also created from iron, steel, and silverite mined from within the kingdom.

Despite asking around half of the shops, they still had no clues, but she wasn't fooled by the feigned ignorance of the shopkeepers. They had shifted uncomfortably at their questions, their eyes looking around the area in fear. But she was persistent; they were bound to find what they were looking for sooner or later.

“My lady, I think I just found something," Zevran said to her, a hand on her shoulder to get her attention.

She frowned. “What is it?” 

He tilted his head towards a building in the distance. “A group of well-equipped men just went into that shop there. They all wore similar armor. It gave me a bad feeling, and usually, that means trouble.”

“All right, then let’s investigate.”

The four made their way to the modest-looking shop. Already gruff voices could be heard from within, along with the clattering of objects falling to the floor. Everil promptly opened the door, stepping in. Those inside paused when they entered, turning their heads to them. One of the dwarves held the shopkeeper by the front of his shirt, weapon pointed at his throat while the others had been observing from their positions by the entrance.

Everil eyed the scene with rising anger and disgust. This poor man was trying to make an honest living by selling his goods, and there he was, with brutes threatening him. And by what Harrowmont said, this had gone on for too long.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we have some trading to do with the man there,” Everil told them, casting a stony look at the one currently terrorizing the shop owner.

“Don't you see we’re busy?” the ruffian bit back, glaring at her. “Figor here hasn't paid his protection fees. Everyone around here knows what happens when you don’t pay. Now, unless you want to be next on my list, get out.”

But instead of fleeing, the Warden took a step, unaffected by his threat while the other dwarves in his group reached for their weapons. Alistair and Zevran swiftly drew theirs, pointing their blades at them. And she continued approaching him without looking back, knowing her companions had her back.

“I’m a Grey Warden, you fool. Your threats don't face me.” She tilted her chin up, staring down at him as if he were nothing but dirt under her boot. “Now, put down your weapon and step away from that man. Otherwise, I promise that you will not leave here alive.”

“Roggar… What do we do?” one of the dwarves by the door muttered, glowering at Alistair.

“Heh…” Roggar smirked and shoved Figor to the floor, turning to face her while resting his axe upon his shoulder. “You talk big, but you’re still an outsider. You obviously don't know the power of the Carta.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You work for Jarvia.”

“That’s right. I know you Wardens are supporting Harrowmont. The old bastard has been making things more difficult for us lately. I even heard he’s been looking for her.” He raised his axe, aiming it at her. “Is that why you're sniffing around here? The Carta won't appreciate you messing with our business.”

“I’m surprised you were able to put two and two together. I assumed you were but a little monkey, swinging your weapon about in an attempt to appear tough before those you deem weaker than yourself," she taunted him, a cynical smile spreading over her lips. “Only a pathetic coward would use such tactics to earn a few coins.”

His brows went up, taken aback by her mocking words before they met at the bridge of his nose. And he snarled, “You want to see tough?"

He swung at her, she leaned to dodge, letting the heavy weapon hit the floor and lodge itself into the stone. Then she put her boot on it, preventing him from pulling it out as she brought back her fist. Everil struck him as hard as she could, forcing him to let go of his weapon, knocking him onto his rear.

“Roggar!” one of his men called and made to help. But the cold steel of a dagger made him freeze on the spot.

Zevran clicked his tongue in a chastising manner, shaking his head. “Now, now… You want to keep your head, no?”

Everil stepped up to Roggar and dropped on a knee, grabbing him by the front of his armor. Her piercing blue eyes met his, her tone dangerously low. “Where do we find Jarvia?” 

“I won’t tell you, bitch!” he snapped through a bloodied mouth.

“Wrong answer.” She drew her dagger and pressed the edge to his neck. “I'll have you know, that if I don’t get what I want out of you, I can always take it from one of your friends over there. Now, choose your next words wisely or I slash open your miserable throat.”

“All right, fine!” he snapped, gritting his teeth. “Our base is in Dust Town, the slums of Orzammar.”

“What else can you tell me?” she pressed further.

“What more do you want!” He tried to shove at her, only for her blade to penetrate skin, making him yelp.

“Your base won't be out in the open. Harrowmont’s men would have found it by now,” she said evenly, her nose almost touching his plump one. “Give me details.”

“Y-You’ll have to look for a peculiar door without a knob. In one of the slum houses. In the square! You’ll need a special token to get in.”

“Who has that token? Where can we find it?”

He swallowed, conflict crossing his eyes. Everil pressed the knife further. “I don't have all day, Roggar, and neither do you.” 

He gulped. “Y-You can have mine!” he stammered, reaching into his armor and pulling out a chain. She swiftly took hold of it, snapping it away from him.

Having what they needed, Everil stood. “Get out and don't ever come back. If I ever see you or your men around here again, my friends and I will run you through.” 

“Y-Yes, Warden,” Roggar scrambled to his feet, rushing to the exit and leaving his weapon behind. 

Morrigan stepped aside to let the cowering dwarves through, smirking as they went.

“Geez… Remind me not to ever make you angry,” Alistair sheathed his blade as he approached his fellow Warden.

“Those who prey on the weak sicken me. I would have killed them, but that would have made me just like them.” Everil lifted the chain to look at the token. It was made of a finger's bones, which meant it had once belonged to one of their victims. “Bastards…” she muttered with disgust before turning her attention to the still shaken shopkeeper.

“Are you all right?” she inquired as she put away the chain in one of her pockets, then offered him a hand.

“Yes. Th-Thank you. I thought I was a goner.” He dusted himself and gazed up at her. “If you want to trade for anything in the store, I'll give you the best discount I can afford. You just let me know what you need.”

She smiled, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Thank you, we’ll keep that in mind.”

After nodding to the dwarf, she craned her head to her companions. “Come on. It’s time to pay the Carta a little visit.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Dust Town was just as the name implied—a place filled with ruined huts that were worn and crumbling, covered in brown dirt and rocks that had rolled down from above. Dwarves slept on the streets or sat beside them, asking for coin as they passed them by. It was a miserable sight, and she found herself wondering why they were living in such conditions when the dwarves in the Commons were faring so well. 

“This must be where all the casteless go,” Zevran commented quietly. 

Everil shook her head. “How terrible…”

“What classifies them as casteless?” Alistair asked them curiously, having heard very little of the dwarves aside from minor lessons in their politics.

“Dwarves who were cast away by their families, and their caste, for whatever reason," Everil replied with a sad sigh. “Castes break down into… different skills or traits, if you will. For example, there's a Merchant’s caste, a Warrior’s caste… each one regarded higher than the other depending on how great their contribution to their society.”

“Each dwarf is born into a caste, inheriting whichever caste their parent of the same sex belongs to. If a dwarf is shunned by their caste or is born casteless, then they contribute nothing in the eyes of the dwarven people. They're not part of their society, therefore, they are nothing.”

“Woah…” Alistair scratched the back of his head. “That sounds… rough.”

“Dwarves appear to be quite extreme when it comes to their collective beliefs,” Morrigan added to their conversation. “However, they seem to have a fair enough system where anyone can reach their full potential if they were to play their cards right. These poor idiots were but the unlucky few who lost at their own game.”

“But casting these people away like this… It’s wrong.” Alistair glanced down at a woman holding a crying baby as they walked by, seeing the desperation in her eyes.

“Every government has those they oppress or ignore. Ferelden is no different," Morrigan told him as they continued crossing the broken, dusty path through the ruins. "Or have you forgotten the elves in the Denerim Alienage? They too are ignored or abused by humans, especially by those of noble birth like yourselves.”

Alistair’s eyes turned to the ground. “Of course I haven't forgotten them…”

Everil gave Morrigan a troubled look. “I'm glad my family treated elves with a bit more dignity… Though they were still just servants at the castle.”

“The privileged do not see the struggle of the poor until they have lived it for themselves. You two are good examples of this,” Morrigan continued vehemently. “Though ‘tis only survival of the fittest. Nature’s way of things. They would likely do the same if the roles were reversed.”

Moments later, they arrived at the center of Dust Town, where they noticed several small houses circling the square. More homeless dwarves sat on the dirt, casting fearful eyes on them. “Split up and find a door without a knob,” Everil commanded quietly.

After walking door to door, it was Zevran who found it. “Over here!”

“Perfect.” Everil went up to him, producing the token from her pocket. Looking over the door, she spotted a rounded slot, then reached up to insert the token in it. A click was heard. 

“All right… By what we've heard, the Carta is a large organization. We don’t know how many of them we'll face inside, but our goal is to kill Jarvia." Everil turned to face her party, a no-nonsense expression on her face. “We'll focus on finding her and kill anyone who gets in our way as quickly as possible. Once we are done, we'll hurry out and report to Harrowmont. No unnecessary risks. Is that understood?”

They nodded their agreement and the group proceeded to step inside. 

There was no turning back.

  
  



	19. A Lord's Favor V

⚜

_ T _ _ he old hut was but _ a cover for a cave leading to intricate passages lit by torches. Distant dripping echoed, the muggy air making it more difficult to breathe. These caves had been around for a long time. And if the Carta were as influential as Harrowmont said, then they led to other places in Orzammar. They hadn't run into any enemies but she assumed they already knew they were coming. 

“‘Tis awfully quiet for a lair full of criminals,” Morrigan pointed out. “This does not sit well with me.”

“Good thing we have you to set them on fire when they show up.” Everil grinned at her from over a shoulder. "We could use more light, anyway."

Morrigan smiled back. “Indeed...” 

A flicker ahead drew their attention to a single dwarf holding a crossbow. But before Everil could calculate how to deal with him, he'd taken aim, firing a bolt their way. They had to duck to avoid it, the dark making it difficult to see the bolt’s actual trajectory. It hit a spot behind them, exploding into a cloud of smoke and throwing them into a coughing fit.

Alistair and Zevran rose as the dwarf reloaded his weapon, then charged, blades drawn.

“Wait!” Everil called out before they heard a loud click. All froze in place. 

Morrigan blinked. "What—”

The floor below them opened, swallowing them along with their surprised cries.

“Everil!” Alistair ran back as the trap door closed shut, separating him and Zevran from the two women. “Shit!” He whirled about and ducked as another bolt came flying. 

Cloak flowing with the motion, Zevran dashed to the enemy and slit open his throat. The dwarf let out a strangled cry, gurgling as he fell.

Alistair sheathed his blade and headed towards the elf with purposeful strides.

“What happened?” Zevran wondered in puzzlement.

“They sought to separate us and got what they wanted,” he replied, stalking past him and over the dwarf's corpse. “Come on, we need to find them quickly. Keep your eyes open for more traps.”

Zevran watched him go, noticing a change in the other man. In his short time traveling with him, it had been obvious that Alistair wasn't the confident type. Often leaving everything up to the other Warden. Now, he appeared to be more sure of himself when telling them what to do—more determined and focused. The assassin shrugged and followed him down the shadowy corridor, hurrying his pace to catch up to him. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Everil landed roughly on the unrelenting ground, releasing a painful grunt. And before she could move, Morrigan came down after her. The witch's slender body crashed on top of hers, forcing all the air out of her.

“Oh!“ Morrigan removed herself from her companion. "I apologize…"

“You're… forgiven." With effort, Everil sat up, an arm across her torso as she struggled to regain her ability to breathe.

Morrigan gazed up at the hole through which they fell, then looked around. They were in another passage, one with a door at the end. “It appears ‘tis only us now.”

“They split us up…” Everil rose to her feet, scanning the area for trouble or more traps. “Curses... I knew they were ready for us.”

“This was all a mistake. We should have left and taken our chances without these foolish dwarves.” Morrigan pushed herself from the ground, using her staff for support.

The Warden didn't respond, wondering if the witch was right. But then that momentary doubt disappeared. She had to remind herself that taking chances wasn’t exactly the best course of action. Especially when the fate of an entire country rested on their shoulders. Sometimes to get things done right, one had to take the long road instead of going for the shortcuts. 

Their footsteps echoed as they neared the door, finding no traps along the way. Everil cautiously opened it, eyes narrowing as she gazed inside. It was a room containing boxes and chests. Goods waiting for smuggling. It was quiet once more, with only the same distant prattle of water and the sound of their own breathing. They entered, Everil drawing her sword.

“We fell through their trap… The fools. Now would be the perfect time to be upon us,” Morrigan whispered.

Everil let out a nervous chuckle. “Please don't give them ideas...” 

As if on cue, a gate on the other side of the room flew open. Several Carta dwarves poured out, all carrying daggers, swords, and axes. 

“Too late…” Morrigan cursed her own mouth for the first time.

The Warden drew her dagger and stepped forward, waiting for the first dwarf to come to her. She deflected his sword and spun on one foot, slashing his throat open before moving on to the next target. They outnumbered them. And now they lacked Alistair’s and Zevran's offensive power. She had to end this battle quickly before they overwhelmed them. “Morrigan! Ice them!” she called, striking another down.

At her command, the witch waved her staff, summoning her magical powers. Everil darted out of the spell’s path, allowing her cone of cold to spread and freeze everything it touched. The Warden rushed in, shattering each enemy and advancing on those still moving. She slid over the iced ground, her feet taking out one's legs. She plunged her dagger into his chest, then bolted up, slashing upwards and killing the enemy next to him. Everil spun around, expecting more thugs. None came.

Morrigan walked over the bodies of the dead and dying as those frozen thawed. “Well done.”

“Thank you.” Everil wiped red from her cheek. Her gaze went from the Carta to where they’d burst from, seeing the door was still ajar. “Let’s keep moving.”

Cautious and alert, the Warden went into the next area first, followed by Morrigan. But despite their best efforts, the darkness made it difficult to see past the torches. Movement from the corner of her eye had Everil turn her head in time to see something coming.

“Look out!” She tackled Morrigan to the ground, avoiding a massive hammer. It smashed the wall beside them, sending chunks of rock exploding in all directions. Before Everil could face their unknown enemy, an armored hand seized her neck, drawing a surprised gasp. 

From the floor, Morrigan watched in shock as a qunari in plate armor lifted her off of her. Everil grunted, kicking her feet while dangling in his grasp. And he threw her across the hallway, sending her flying as if she were weightless. Her body hit the wall sideways, causing her to drop her weapons. She landed roughly on her side, her back to the witch.

“Warden!” Morrigan called in alarm, unable to tell if she was yet conscious. The seconds ticked by as if time stalled, her expectant gaze on her motionless form. To her momentary relief, Everil let out a soft groan and rolled onto her stomach, going to her hands and knees. 

The qunari crossed the distance to the dazed Grey Warden, set on finishing the job. He lifted the hammer above his head, releasing a threatening roar.

“Get away from her!” Morrigan cried out, bolting to her feet and unleashing a storm of electricity aimed at the qunari’s back. He halted mid-swing and whirled about to stalk after her, rage in his pale, gray eyes. The witch backed up a step, purple lips pressed into a line as the giant towered over her. He pulled back a fist, preparing to pummel her to dust.  _ Curses…! _

“Argh!” He stumbled, then turned, reaching behind him to remove Everil from his back. She buried her blades deep between his neck and shoulders, holding on with gritted teeth. Releasing a growl of her own, she twisted her weapons, drawing an agonizing howl out of him. And then he took several, unsteady steps, whimpering as he bled. Then the mass of muscle and steel slammed to the ground.

Everil winced, sitting up and plucking her blades from his corpse. She gazed at Morrigan, who was staring with her mouth hanging open. “That was a close one,” she huffed out, smiling at her. “Are you all right?”

“‘Tis I who should ask you that question, foolish girl...” She walked up to her, offering a hand. 

Everil chuckled and took it, letting her help her stand before holding the side of her aching head. “I’m fine. Just a minor bump and an aching hip. Nothing serious.” She picked up her other weapon, swinging them both clean before sheathing them at her sides. “I didn’t expect to find a qunari here. It makes me glad Sten is on our side.”

“Perhaps he is a hired hand. We should be careful, as there could be more.” 

“Agreed.” 

The both of them then resumed their trek. “I hope Alistair and Zevran are faring better than we were just now.”

“‘Tis likely they had a few surprises of their own...”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

One thug wailed as Alistair cut him down, then the Warden pivoted on one foot to run another through. After defeating all the enemies, he straightened himself and surveyed the area. Zevran came near him. “Hah! That was not as bad as it looked.” The elf smiled wickedly, face and chest stained red.

Alistair sighed. “Oh, there's more of them further in, I’m sure.”

The two men resumed their quest, passing boxes full of glass bottles and precious metals. Their path twisted and met the occasional storeroom, then stretched for another mile or so. The passages were no doubt an entire network right under Orzammar and out to other parts of Ferelden.

“You think these tunnels connect with your deep roads?” Zevran inquired, voice echoing despite his best efforts to keep quiet. “They seem to go on forever.”

“I hope not. Otherwise, we’ll have something more than just the Carta to worry about. And let me tell you, fighting darkspawn doesn’t sound particularly appealing to me right now.”

“Yes. I prefer dwarves. They're so much nicer to look at.”

A chuckle escaped the Warden. “I agree… Even with all the belching, they're far more attractive.”

“Especially in the dark...” Zevran's brief laugh joined his as they crossed another shadowy section. 

The pair then fell silent, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. Alistair couldn't tell if it was because the elf hadn't tried to kill them again, but he'd grown to trust him a little more. And even with the occasional ogling, he’d kept his distance from Everil. Which helped keep things between them much more civil. He still didn't consider him a friend, though—even doubted he ever would. But at least working with him wasn't as exasperating as it used to be.

“Wait…” Alistair halted them as footsteps and the clanking of armor bounced off the walls. “It sounds like we’re about to have more company.”

“So many…” The assassin let out a breath. “There’s no way the girls didn’t already run into trouble.”

“Yeah… We should hurry.” With a firm look, Alistair resumed their advance, sword in hand.

Zevran smirked. “Right behind you.”

They took out more Carta members in their wake as they went further into their lair. Traps set up for them failed, thanks to Zevran’s ability to pot and disarm them. Alistair noticed they were as untrained as the darkspawn. Predictable and disorganized despite their numbers. That these were casteless dwarves probably had something to do with it, since they likely couldn’t develop their traits.

Soon they arrived at a massive chamber with two doors, one of which was larger than the other. A sentinel stood beside it, surrounded by more dwarves. “Ah, they have a bodyguard, it seems.” Zevran twirled his blades while the enemy encroached upon them.

“That’s a qunari… Why do they have a qunari?” Alistair grimaced, thinking back to Thorpe and how much of a pain he was to defeat on his own.

“Does this bring back memories?” Zevran teased.

“Yes… Wonderful memories of a time—not too long ago—when you tried to kill me.”

The assassin smiled without regret. “Hey, look on the bright side. At least now you know how to bring one down, my friend.”

“Get them!” The dwarves rushed them with joined battle cries.

Both men dispatched them one by one, cutting and slicing through them with ease. Then the armored qunari brought up his hammer, stomping with a roar muffled by his helmet. He brought down the heavy weapon. They dodged in opposite directions. Rocks and dust erupted from the ground as it crashed, leaving a hole.

Alistair moved in and stabbed at his side. The sword's tip screeched over his plates, doing nothing to the brute. And then the hammer came back in a wide arch, missing his head by a hair. Grunting in frustration, Alistair swung at his helmet with all his might, but it only slightly staggered him. The qunari swung his weapon again, hitting the ground once more.

_ Damn it… Have to improvise! _ He tossed his sword up and flipped it to hold it by the blade. Alistair stood his ground and waited for him to lift the hammer once more. He sidestepped, avoiding the hit and striking the giant's helmet with the pommel of his blade. The qunari stumbled, dazed. And then Alistair took the chance.

He switched the blade back, holding the hilt. Then thrust, aiming between the plates and penetrating his shoulder. The qunari let out a deep cry and swung with a fist, striking him in the stomach. Alistair’s breath left him, the grip on his sword faltering. Then a fist punched him across the face, causing him to finally let go of his weapon before hitting the floor.

Zevran ran up as the qunari pulled the offending object from his shoulder, tossing it aside. Moving on quick feet, the elf nimbly dodged his next punch and rolled behind him. He attempted to climb onto his back, but the qunari grabbed him, then threw him off as if he were nothing but a pest. 

“You... overgrown bastard...” Alistair muttered while rising, tasting blood as the new bruise on his cheek throbbed. He took an unsteady step and picked his sword up, angry eyes set on the injured berserker. "Come and get me!"

A loud roar erupted from the qunari as he brought up his hammer one-handed, charging at him in a blind rage. Alistair dodged, let the heavy weapon fall inches from him, then rammed his shield against the man’s head. The resounding slam stunned him, causing him to stumble in a daze once more.

The Warden wasted no time. With a cry of his own, he swung in an arch. The point of his blade sliced open his thick neck and red sprayed from his severed jugular in a gruesome fountain of blood as the hammer dropped. It cracked the ground as the heavy body fell face down, more red pooling beneath his head. 

Zevran walked up to Alistair, gazing at the corpse. "See…? That wasn't so bad, now was it?"

Adrenaline still pumping, Alistair glanced at the elf, wiping his face with the back of the hand. "For you, maybe..."

The smaller door in the room then burst open, drawing their attention away from the body. “Thank the Maker!” Everil exclaimed upon seeing them, jogging over to them. Morrigan sauntered after her. "I'm so glad to see you two in one piece!"

“We could say the same thing...” A relieved smile spread over Alistair's face as she approached them. “Are you both all right?”

“We’re fine." She frowned, touching his bruised cheek. "What happened to your face?”

“This guy happened," he muttered, gesturing to the dead qunari with his sword. “And I don't know about you, but I'm about ready to get out of here.”

"In that, we can finally agree…" Morrigan added, standing beside the female Warden.

Everil nodded and gazed at the towering door ahead. It looked to be secure enough to protect something of value. Or rather, someone. "All right. That looks like the end of the line."

"I say we pay Jarvia our respect," Zevran offered, a wide snicker on his handsome face. "If not for your Lord Harrowmont, then for all the fun she so kindly put us through."

Alistair smirked. "Heh, I second that. We wouldn't want to be rude guests, now, would we?"

"Right." Everil led the way once more. 

They pushed the steel open, and when they entered an expected sight greeted them. A group of Carta members gathered inside a wide chamber. They set it up as a study, with a desk at the center and several tables with boxes at the sides. 

The thugs stood behind a dwarven woman clad in hard, brown leathers and with short, chestnut hair. She was smirking fearlessly at them, arms folded over her chest. “Well, well… Look at what the cat dragged in from the surface. A bunch of meddling rats.”

“I take it you are Jarvia.” Everil stepped closer, giving the woman a cool look.

“That’s right.” Her smirk widened. “Heard the female Warden's the leader. You’re a pretty one, despite that nasty scar. Maybe I should make an example out of you and add some more stripes to that doll face of yours.”

Amused, Everil let out a chuckle, a sarcastic grin curling her lips. “We left a trail of corpses on our way here, so now you're all that is left of your men. And yet, despite your terrible odds, you have the nerve to threaten me. I see you're not only despicable, but you're stupid too.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, her sinister smile faltering. “I'll make you pay for every one of their deaths…" She swung an arm forth. "Teach them a lesson, boys!"

The thugs spread out, charging at full speed.

They picked their targets, each engaging individual enemies. Morrigan stayed behind, casting her spells upon the stragglers. The rogues were fast, but rusty in skill as they cut them down.

Everil sliced through one’s neck, then advanced towards Jarvia, who was arming herself as she came. The Warden's blades connected with her dual daggers, making Jarvia clench her jaw. Everil stared her down, unfazed by her heated glare. 

With a roar, Jarvia parried her sword and struck sideways. Everil deflected, then kicked at her feet. But the dwarf backflipped, evading the hit while shooting out several smaller daggers. Everil swung Elethea, knocking some off the air and avoiding others. She kicked into motion without pause.

Jarvia let out a frustrated growl at her speed. She was flowing like the wind with each attack, giving her no chance to deliver a hit. “Die, damn you!” she snapped while blocking another strike, then lunged with her second dagger. Everil flipped her dagger and struck at her opponent’s with the pommel as it came. The impact knocked Jarvia’s arm back, sending her weapon flying from her grasp.

Shock befell the rogue as the Warden’s sword buried itself in her ribs, piercing through a lung. She choked up blood. “What…?”

“You should have left those merchants alone…” Everil withdrew her blade, letting her fall on her knees and onto her chest.

Jarvia coughed and wheezed, staring at the bodies of her clan as life drifted away from her. Damn these surfacers. Damn these strangers whose meddling doomed her entire operation. And damn that Harrowmont for unleashing them upon her.

“We’re done here…" the Warden said to her party, sheathing her weapons. “Let’s go report back to Harrowmont.”


	20. A Night Before the Deep

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ “I _ _ mpressive work, Wardens. Thanks to you, my _ people won't have to worry about those criminals destroying their shops and threatening their lives.” Harrowmont shook their hand with a slight smile on his face. “As a reward for your efforts, I have arranged to cover all costs of your stay in Orzammar. So try to enjoy yourselves while you are here… despite the unrest.”

He gave them a once over, seeing the dirt, blood, and grime over them after their incursion into Jarvia’s territory. “There's a bathhouse by the inn in which you are staying. Only the nobles can afford to go there, so you should not run into too much trouble there. Feel free to use it at my expense.”

Zevran snickered at his veiled suggestion. “That sounds nice, actually.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Everil replied, dipping her head while offering him a smile of her own. “So… does this solve your political problems, Lord Harrowmont?”

He clasped both hands behind his back and gazed down, shaking his head with a sigh. “If only it were that easy... While what you did for me bolstered the people’s support for me, this is still not enough to seal the deal.”

Alistair raised an eyebrow. “So you still need us to help you.”

“I'm afraid so... And the next task will not be an easy one.”

“All right… What else do you need?”

“For every decision in which there is such a division between our people, we look to our ancestors for advice. Their word carries great value, especially now without a king.”

“Aren’t your ancestors dead?” Zevran asked while scratching the back of his head, tousling his platinum hair.

Harrowmont tilted his chin up. "There is one who still walks among us.”

Everil crossed her arms. “A Paragon.” 

“Correct.” Harrowmont nodded. “Paragon Branka is the only one the Assembly will listen to. Obtaining her support will be the last piece we need.”

“And where do we find her?” 

“That is where it becomes complicated.” The old dwarf turned around, moving to the fire warming his study, gazing at the flames. “She has been missing for some time. The last we heard of her, she had put together an expedition to travel into the deep roads. I ask that you find her and bring her back to us.”

“What? Go to the deep roads?” questioned Alistair, not quite believing his ears. “That’s... That's a pretty tall order.” 

“You are Grey Wardens. I am certain you can handle it,” Harrowmont said with unwavering confidence.

Alistair folded his arms with a helpless smile. “Look, my lord... We appreciate your faith in us. But even with our entire party, it would be near suicide to search for someone in that darkspawn-infested maze. Especially without some sort of clue on where to look.”

“I agree,” Everil added, doubt in her tone. “Do you know of anyone who could give us more details on a location? Or even a map…? If we have a more defined path, then perhaps we could consider it.” 

“I didn’t say I would send you in blind." Harrowmont approached his desk, a few steps away. He produced a rolled-up piece of paper from a drawer, then walked to Everil, handing it to her. “This is a map of what we know of the deep roads. I have no idea exactly where she went, but she has to be in one of the thaigs.” 

“Then that’s a start,” she said with a nod, putting the scroll away in her bag. “We will head out first thing in the morning and hopefully bring you news upon our return.”

“My thanks." He gave them a grateful dip of the head. “And good luck out there.’

“Thank you.” She and her friends then headed for the door, leaving the old dwarf alone in his study.

Harrowmont released a heavy sigh, then returned his troubled gaze to the flames. He didn't like sending them into such danger, but they were the only ones he knew would most likely pull it off. "May the ancestors guide you, Wardens."

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The bell that signaled the night reached Everil's ears once more. After a brief trip to the bathhouse, she was already back at the inn. Preparing to enter the deep roads the next day. The thought alone made her nervous. 

Grey Wardens mostly went to that forsaken place when nearing the end of their lives. To wage one last, glorious battle against their sworn enemy before succumbing to the taint. Haunted blue eyes stared back at her in the mirror, taking in her reflection, clad in a simple white gown. She brushed her still damp hair with a comb, her mind wandering into dark thoughts. Wondering how much the curse changed her body. 

She didn’t feel ill or weakened by it. But she knew it was because it was a slow, silent killer. Taking over her being and stealing years from her like a thief in the night. She questioned if her parents would have allowed her to join the order if they'd known the heavy price they paid.  _ Not that it mattered… Had they not agreed, I would have likely died that night too… _

Everil gave her head a shake, trying to dispel the unpleasant memories. Her chest felt heavy with guilt and grief over their loss. She had come a long way from that somewhat sheltered girl, and she had the bumps and bruises to show for it. If she had to do it all over again, even while being privy to the cost, she would do it without regrets.

A knock on her door pulled her out of her reverie. She placed the comb down on the dressed, then made her way to it, opening it. “Morrigan? How can I help you?” 

The witch pressed her lips together for a moment as if thinking of the right words. “May we speak in private?”

“Sure, come in,” Everil stepped back, allowing her entry into her chamber.

Morrigan gazed around the room, seeing only her and the mabari lying on her bed. “I assumed Alistair would be with you.”

“He went to the bathhouse with Zevran,” Everil replied, closing the door.

“I thought those two did not care much for each other.”

Everil chuckled. “They seem to have grown more tolerant of one another. Plus, I made them go. We all reeked after today.”

“I see.” Morrigan smiled, placing both hands on her hips. “At… any rate. I wanted to apologize to you for my recent behavior. I questioned your ability to lead due to your romantic feelings for your fellow Warden. 'Twas not my place… especially after all you have done for me.”

“You speak your mind. There's nothing wrong with that,” Everil said with a smile of her own. “What brought this on, anyway? You rarely contradict yourself.”

“I still believe as I do—that love is a useless thing. But you are your own person… and I… admire your ability to follow your own path. Regardless of what others think you must or mustn't do.” She gazed at the floor, avoiding her stare as she turned to leave. “'Tis all I had to say... Good night.”

“Wait, Morrigan.” 

She paused on her way out, facing her.

Everil went to her bag by the bed, rummaging through it. “On my way back from the bathhouse, I ran into a traveling merchant who sold trinkets on the road.” She rose and walked up to her, carrying a small bundle in her hands. “I saw this in his cart and immediately thought of you. I want you to have it.”

Curious, Morrigan took the item and unwrapped it. Her eyes widened the moment they landed on what lay inside the worn cloth. It was a golden mirror, with jewels encrusted around the edges. “You… You remembered?” she whispered, her shocked gaze trailing up to meet hers.

Everil smiled. “Of course I did. What sort of friend would I be otherwise?” 

The witch hesitated, attempting to find her words, the warm feeling in her chest alien to her. She had told her a childhood story in passing. Never did she think such a tale would stay in her mind for this long. That she would bother remembering something so trivial about her past. But she did. And Morrigan didn't know what to do with herself.

She held the mirror to her chest, a genuine smile spreading over her purple lips. “I… I also think of you as a friend. Perhaps even a sister?”

“That sounds accurate.” Everil tilted her head, patting her bare shoulder. "We've been through much together, you and I.” 

“We have...” Morrigan gave her a kind look that surprised even her. It was strange and difficult to describe, but she'd never been this close to anyone before. Not even with her own mother.

She wanted to say something more. To thank her from the depths of her heart and even attempt one of those things they call a hug. “I—”

Someone entering the room disrupted their conversation. They saw Alistair walk in, his hair still wet from his bath. He was carrying his Warden armor, clad in a beige shirt and brown trousers after cleaning it. He sent them an odd look. “Morrigan... What are you doing here?”

She scowled with distaste at his intrusion, her cheeks turning a shade of pink. “The War—Everil and I happened to be having a private conversation. I thought this Arl Eamon of yours had taught you the most basic proper manners. Such as knocking upon a lady’s door instead of barging in unannounced.” She raised her chin. “Apparently, I was mistaken. Though I am not surprised, considering you have the cognitive abilities of a toadstool.”

“Sheesh… What an elaborate way to insult someone,” Alistair grumbled, moving to the nearest table to set down his gear. Then he headed back to the door. “Sorry I interrupted. I’ll leave you two alone.”

“'Tis far too late, you fool.” Morrigan stalked past him, the mirror still secured in her arms as she exited the chamber. "You have ruined everything!” She slammed the door shut, her retreating steps stomping down the hall.

Everil let out a laugh at the bewildered expression on his face. 

“What in the Maker’s name was that all about?” he asked.

“Don't take it personal. She was just embarrassed.”

“Morrigan? Embarrassed? I find that hard to believe...”

“You didn't see. I gave her a gift and you walked in on her beaming like a child. I've never seen her like that before.”

“What...? Oh, man," he chortled. “Now I wish I would've seen it! I would've laughed in her face.”

“Alistair…” Everil chastised, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, yeah… She has nothing on me, though...” He let out a dejected breath. “I just bathed and drank whiskey in a tub full of burly dwarves. Who, by the way, spent the entire time laughing at my missing chest hair, all the while, sitting next to an elf who wouldn't shut up about the women he’d bathed with—details and everything. Not even the expensive alcohol helped tune them out.” 

She chortled. “Oh, I can picture that...”

His smile widened. “Glad you find my misery amusing.” 

“Sorry…” Everil tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “At least we’re not paying for any of this.”

“Yeah, it surprised me to hear that our… employer… would take care of the coin for us.” 

She nodded, pausing as her mind returned to the troublesome thoughts. There was no guarantee they would succeed in helping Harrowmont. They didn’t even know for certain where to find the Paragon, or if she still lived.  _ Should we risk this much on a task that may very well turn out to be pointless? What if she’s dead?  _

“Hey…“ Alistair noticed the abrupt shift in her mood and stepped towards her, cupping her cheek. “Everything all right?”

“I just…” She drew in a breath and exhaled, ashamed by her next words. “I’m... more than a little nervous about tomorrow...”

“About the deep roads...?”

“Yes…” Her brow furrowed as she gazed up at him. “We'll be walking into darkspawn territory… What if something goes wrong?”

He let out a breath of his own and embraced her, resting his chin atop her head. “Everything will be fine… We just have to prepare well before going. And with the Blight, there might not be as many darkspawn underground. Which means we may be able to avoid the bulk of their numbers.”

“I suppose you could be right…” She brought her arms up and about his waist, pressing the side of her face to him. “I don't think we should take everyone with us. A smaller group will draw less attention.” 

“Mhm...” Alistair agreed, listening to her as she pondered out loud.

“Shale can take on large numbers if we get overwhelmed. Wynne can assist with magic.” Without pulling away, her eyes shifted to her hound. “Bjorn can help with tracking...” 

They received a single, joyous bark in response. The hound hopped off the bed, claws clicking over the stone floor as he went to them. He sat beside them and she petted him, scratching behind his ear.

“Would Wynne be able to handle it...? We don't know for how long we'll be walking down there.” 

She withdrew to gaze up at him. "We need a healer in case things go awry… She’s the best one we have.” 

“I guess you’re right.” A reassuring smile tugged at his lips as he cupped her cheek once more. “Don’t worry… If anyone can lead us through the darkspawn’s lair and get us out alive, it would be you.”

Everil placed a hand over his, leaning into his touch. “You have that much faith in me...”

“I do…" His voice was gentle, yet confident, amber eyes gazing into hers without a shred of doubt. “You’ve gotten us through many life and death situations, and all of us are still here. I think that says something.”

“Thank you...” Everil murmured as his encouraging words eased the tension on her shoulders.

The pressure upon her was constant. If she were ever to make the wrong call, any of them could die. Besides that, as they dallied through the dwarven kingdom, many on the surface perished, killed by a hurlock's blade, an ogre's bite, or the Blight's taint. The prospect of failing them made it all worse and the weariness after fighting the Carta didn’t help.

But it all seemed to stop when he tilted up her chin, his tenderness causing her heart to leap. “Don't worry so much, my love… ”

“I'm sorry…”

“Don't be. Just have faith in us.”

She smiled a little. “All right…”

Alistair ran a careful thumb over the fading cut on her lip. “Does this still hurt?”

She licked the injury, feeling no pain, while also staring into his amber pools. “No... It no longer bothers me.”

“So I can do this…?” Slow and gentle, he pressed his lips to hers in a brief kiss.

Warmth rose to her cheeks and she purred for him, “You can do anything you like, my knight...”

“Anything I like, huh…?” he whispered huskily, her words stirring something in him as he took firm hold of her hips. “I would take you up on that offer... right now… but—”

A whine reached their ears, drawing their attention to their hound. The curious Bjorn stared up at them, tilting his head.

“—we have an audience.”

“Right…” Everil swallowed, reluctantly leaving his arms. She bent over to the dog’s level. “I apologize, boy… Can you stay in the hallway for a while?”

He whimpered, his tongue darting out to lick her cheek. 

She chuckled. “It’ll be all right.”

Everil led him outside before Bjorn stepped out and faced her. “Be a good boy.”

And the door shut, leaving him out in the hallway. The hound yawned, paced in a tight circle, and lied down with a huff. He grumbled, eyeing his surroundings. The hallway was empty, with only dwarven decorations lining the walls. It was silent all around, but he could hear far away music coming from the tavern near the inn. Bjorn huffed again. He may as well guard the bedroom. Just in case.

“Will he be all right out there?” Alistair inquired as she sauntered back to him.

“Yes…” She gripped the sides of his shirt, speaking in a seductive tone against his chin. “If anything, he will keep others from interrupting…”

“Ah, very true…” he murmured, then brushed his mouth over hers before kissing her. The kiss carried an edge of desire. Pleasant, yet warm as a summer's eve. He nuzzled her nose, his voice low and alluring. “That means… I have you all to myself now…”

“Yes… I'm all yours...”

“Hmm... I like the sound of that…” His hand went to the small of her back and pulled her to him. Their lips connected, only to part, and then connect again. Delicate hands crawled up his chest, over his solid muscles as her arms went over his shoulders and around his neck. He parted her petals, their breaths intertwining until he deepened the kiss with a soft moan.

Everil sighed as their tongues danced in a slow, loving embrace, exploring each other as sure as long-time lovers. Soon, she became lost in the taste of him, taking in the lingering hint of whiskey. Letting out a quiet moan, she suckled on his lips, enjoying the sweet, smoky taste as if intoxicated by him.

“Oh… darling…” she whimpered as her temperature climbed, her heartbeat like a drum on a battlefield. He hummed and nibbled on her succulent petals, the way she pleaded to him urging him on. A fog seemed to crawl its way into his mind, clouding all thought and reason and leaving only the fervent desire that possessed his being. His hands obeyed that primal urge, descending to her rear, and he fondled her glutes, tight and rough as she groaned into his mouth.

Blinded by lust, their kiss grew hungrier, demanding, as they lost themselves in one another. Everil whined, her sex growing warm and moist. Eager for him. While his erection pressed against her abdomen, ready to stake its claim in her as it had before. 

Alistair trailed down from her lips to her jaw, and down her throat as he breathlessly tasted her skin. His tongue stroked her pulse, his teeth grazed her flesh, and she quivered in his arms. One of his hands crept up to squeeze her breast, and he kneaded and massaged, fueling the ache between her legs. His kisses then came back up, seeking her panting mouth. Then, feeling her stiff nipple through her clothes, he pinched, earning a muffled cry as the electrifying jolt he caused shot straight to her core. 

Mewling weakly, Everil broke away from the hungry kiss, straying to his neck. One of her hands ventured south to his prominent bulge, and Alistair drew in a breath when her palm rubbed over his erection. Up and down. Firm, slow, and mind-numbing. The pressure was nearly too much to handle. Almost painful.

“Everil…” he groaned into her hair, still fondling her perked up mound while throbbing into her hand. And Everil bit her lip upon hearing him and feeling his girth react to her ministrations. She yearned for him to say her name again, and again. To pleasure him into oblivion as he had her so many times before.

“I’ve changed my mind…  _ I  _ will do whatever  _ I  _ want with you tonight...” she breathed over his pulse.

“Hm…” He shuddered at her words. “Is that so…?”

“Yes…” Her mouth sought his again, nibbling and suckling as she led him to the bed. She withdrew, then made him flop onto the edge of the mattress. Everil first pulled his shirt off, discarding it. Then she bent over, working on ridding him of the other obstacles in her way.

Alistair watched her work through half-lidded eyes, his heart racing in his ears. He let her remove his boots next, seeing her toss them to one side. Then her lithe fingers sought the cord on his trousers. And he gulped as she yanked it loose before reaching for the waistline. “I want these off…” she instructed.

He licked his lips and complied, lifting his hips as she pulled down both trousers and breeches, finally freeing him from that cursed prison. Everil went to her knees between his legs with an inward smile, seeing the curiosity in his eyes. Then she admired his member, mesmerized by its size as it pulsed expectantly for her. Alistair swallowed thick again, sitting bare for her, watching her stare at his hardened manhood with a hunger he hadn’t yet seen on her. 

Pulse pounding, Alistair looked as gentle fingers gripped him. Then he sucked in a breath when her warm mouth enveloped him. “Maker…!” he gasped as a jolt of electricity shot through him, eyes glued to her as she deliberately took in more of him. Until all he could feel was moisture and heat.

No one had ever touched him this way. 

Everil closed her eyes and moved her head up, her tongue dragging along his shaft and pressing against the tip as he throbbed between those rosy petals. And her head moved down once more, then up again, soaking him in spit as she gripped him, soft and tight, and wet. And oh, so erotic.

A smacking sound came as she pulled him out, stared up with a glazed-over gaze, and licked her way up, tasting him from base to top as he released a drawn-out moan. She repeated the crude action, playing him as if he were but a musical instrument. Then Everil closed her eyes again and brought him into her mouth once more, halted mid-way, and went back up while pumping him with one hand.

“Oh, that feels so good…!” he groaned deeply as the sensations intensified, fueled by the suckling noises. Panting heavily, he gripped the sheets and placed a shaking hand on her bobbing head. Everything was a blur. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t reason while watching her and feeling her savor him as if he were the best tasting morsel she’d ever had. 

U nsteady fingers stroked her hair as she continued pleasing him, breathing through her nose. His moans and throaty groans made her own parts long for him. Pulsing between her legs as her esse nce dripped down her inner thigh. 

She needed him now. All of him.

Everil withdrew and licked excess moisture from her lips before rising to her feet. “Do you want me...?” she purred as she pulled up her gown and climbed onto his lap.

His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into her flesh. “Oh, yes… More than anything...”

Pleased with his response, she claimed his mouth with hers as he released a thick, heavy breath out the nose. Alistair fell back onto the mattress with her, adjusting them over the bed as they devoured each other. Then she broke away from their heated kiss, leaning up with hands over his chest. 

Her lustful eyes locked with his and they moaned as she lowered her sex upon him, tight, yet slick. Wet noises followed as she rode his length, enjoying the tingling spreading within her. With a deep moan, she took off her nightgown and tossed it to the floor, not once stopping the rising and falling of her pelvis while exposing herself to him.

His hands came to rest on her thighs and he groaned as she slid up and down, grinding against him in every fall. His gaze traveled over her, admiring her sensual curves as he reached up to cup her ample breasts. Everil moaned and arched her back, leaning into his touch while keeping her agonizing pace. Alistair's coarse hands fondled her bosom as if they were his playground. Massaging her soft mounds and kneading them together. Squeezing them while watching her ride him with unveiled hunger. 

He pinched her nipples, drawing a gasp out of her. The pleasurable pain made her crave more as if starved. She wanted satisfaction. To listen to his pleasure and satiate their needs. So she bit her lip and leaned upright, throwing her head back with a loud whine as she picked up speed. Slapping sounds filled the room as her hips bounced against his, his hard member penetrating her deeper, faster, tapping against the sensitive wall within her as she squealed.

“Maker’s breath…!” he bit out as sharp bolts shot down his shaft, his hands sliding down her torso and to her hips. Ardently, he admired her bouncing breasts, seeing droplets of sweat over her skin that shimmered with the colorful lights of their dwarven lamps. And the way she looked above him... like an embattled goddess riding her noble steed... it was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. The view heightened the electrifying feeling in their joined parts and his moans grew louder, riddled with yearning as each stroke of her hot folds built up the pressure near the breaking point. “Oh, keep going…” he urged her further. “Keep going…!”

“Ah, yes…!” Everil clenched around him and moved faster, bringing her wet sex upon him as his words stoked the flame.

He groaned loudly at the tight friction, his chest heaving as he thrust, meeting her as she came down. Alistair followed her rhythm—up and down, up and down—in a steady, yet wild tempo.

“Yes!” she squealed as he roughly hit her core. All she could hear, smell, and feel was him. The clapping of their bodies. The scent of their lovemaking. The way he rammed against her depths as each pump unleashed currents of raw pleasure that threatened to push her over the edge. 

Everil tensed, struggling against the relentless assault. A few more... just a few more. And she was screaming as she fell over the drop, plummeting into raging waters, her constricting walls bringing him along with her. A loud groan left him as he filled her, the warm sensation spreading through her throbbing insides. She shook and shuddered over him, forced to rest her hands on his chest as the waves crashed through her quivering body.

She gasped as she continued to move her hips, the intense feeling ebbing away each time he slid in and out of her soaked depth, slowing to a stop. Panting from exhaustion, she shakily lay over him, resting her head upon his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her.

“By the Maker…” Alistair spoke, huffing, yet with a broad smile. “I think I should let you... do whatever you want with me more often…”

Everil chuckled hoarsely. 

Slow, intimate seconds ticked by as they tried to regain their breath, listening to each other's wild hearts and enjoying the closeness of their bodies. The gentle blue, pink, and yellow glow of the surrounding crystals added to the calm.

“Alistair…” Everil eventually called.

“Hm…?” He nuzzled her head, fingers combing through her hair as his heavy breathing blew on a few strands.

She sighed, his tender touch soothing her still raging pulse. “What will we do… after all this is over?” 

“Hmm… good question…” he whispered tiredly. “There will always be darkspawn to fight… but with the rest of the order gone…”

“We can rebuild it...”

“Yes… I guess you’re right… We could make new Grey Wardens.” He smiled lightly, then caressed her smooth back. “Then maybe… Maybe while we do that, we could travel through Ferelden together… Just the two of us.”

“Hmm… That sounds good to me…” She nuzzled his shoulder as he continued to caress her flushed skin. His feather-like touch comforted her, her prior worries vanishing into nothingness. 

His words gave her something more to look forward to, and another motivating reason to ensure they'd both survive. Everil couldn’t imagine not having him with her after the end. She wanted to be by his side for as long as possible, to spend her last days with him until the taint claims her. Having lost her family meant she could no longer have her old life back. But at least she could still build a new one with him by her side.


	21. Into the Deep Roads

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ A _ _ fter preparing for their trip, the  _ Grey Wardens and their chosen party made their way to the side of Orzammar still connected to the old darkspawn-infected tunnels. A long trail stretched towards the cave’s ominous gaping maw, which stood apart from the rest of the city, like an old scar—dark and ever-present. A constant reminder of the dwarven people’s defeat against the darkspawn and the loss of their once massive kingdom. 

Those same creatures still threatened them, sometimes invading through the very road that once led to the territories of their ancestors. Guards remained near the cave in continuous rotation, looking out for any signs of another invasion. Two of those guards saw them approach and met them halfway.

“Grey Wardens,” one greeted them, dipping his head.

Everil returned the gesture, then gazed past them. “So this is the entrance to the Deep Roads.”

“It is.” He glanced over his shoulder. “There has been no activity as of late, but we like to—as you lot say—‘stand vigilant’.”

Alistair smiled a little at this. “That's smart.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but we seek to enter the Deep Roads, per Lord Harrowmont’s orders,” Everil told the dwarf. 

“Aye," he responded with a fist to his chest. "You have leave to depart at any time. Just be careful in there, not that I have to tell you that.”

"All right. Thank you." Everil turned to her party, but before she could give the order to resume their trek, a voice called to them from behind.

"Oi!"

They all spun to see another dwarf heading their way, armored and with a great axe on his back. “If you're going into the Deep Roads, I think you could use a sodded guide.” 

“Hey, it’s you!” Alistair’s brows shot up in surprise, earning a curious glance from Everil and Wynne. 

“Good to see you again, Warden,“ Oghren said with a wide grin, stopping before the two of them and reaching for a handshake. 

Alistair shook his hand firmly and then glanced at his fellow Warden. “Everil, this is Oghren. We met in the stands, at the Proving.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” She also shook his hand.

“Sodded great work at the Proving, lass! I hear you’re the boss lady around here?” 

“You could say that.” With a half-smile, Everil crossed her arms. “So you say you know someone who can guide us?”

“Yup, I’m the one who can help you through the Deep Roads." He snickered, a glint in his eye. "But… it depends on if you’re willing to scratch my back too.” 

“Is that so?” She tilted her head in amusement. “What is it you want, exactly?”

He placed a hand on his hip and rubbed his thick, red mustache. “Ever heard of Paragon Branka?” 

“Yes. She's the reason Lord Harrowmont sent us here. He wants us to find her and bring her back to help decide who will be your next king.”

“Well, I’ll be damned… Guess it’s my lucky day." Oghren huffed sarcastically with a scowl. "Only it took those sodded dusters two years to send someone to search for her...” 

“Two years…” Alistair echoed, slightly stunned. “Harrowmont didn’t mention that little detail.”

Oghren gave a derisive snort. “Of course he wouldn’t, it would've made him look bad. That's politicians for ya. Sneaky bastards… They were quick to presume her dead when she went missing, but now they need her help, so they want her back. A Paragon holds a big deal of influence, you see. So they're less trouble when they're dead." He gave her an unwavering stare. “I want to come with you and help find her. If you let me go, I’ll tell you what she was looking for and give you the map she left me.”

“A map?” Everil frowned quizzically. "Harrrowmont gave us one already.”

“That one's gotta be old," he said gruffly and produced a folded piece of paper from his side pouch. “This one is the most complete map of the Deep Roads. The last one drafted by the Paragon herself during her expeditions. I've been meaning to go look for her, but one man venturing through those ruins alone is damn suicide. Why I figured you lot can help me.”

“Heh... Well, that explains why you were so interested in us at the Proving..." Alistair said dryly. 

“That’s right.” He smirked up at him, unashamed, before reverting brown eyes to Everil. “So what’ll be, Warden?”

The Grey Wardens exchanged a glance, then she nodded to the dwarf, offering him a hand. "Very well. You’re welcome to come along. Just make sure you behave yourself and follow our commands.”

“I know the rules, boss lady.” Oghren shook on it and handed her his bargaining chip. “Here you have it.”

“Thanks.” She smiled and regarded her companions. “Let’s get going.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The Deep Roads were predictably dark, dead, and filled with ancient dwarven architecture. Dust and humidity filled their nostrils, accompanied by the faint scent of decaying flesh they often smelled on the darkspawn themselves. After a few miles of walking on an ancient highway without incident, they reached a crossroad called Caridin's Cross, which connected Orzammar with several thaigs—a term used for underground settlements built by the dwarves. Chiseled stone pillars lined the walls, covered in carvings depicting dwarven lore, while the street lay covered in layers of rock and dust. 

They eventually ran into a pile of rubble that blocked their path, forcing them to use a detour through a narrow passage beside it. The map thankfully had the alternate route drawn over it, showing it would circle around the cave in and bring to the other side. Shale’s massive footsteps echoed in the tunnel, drowning theirs along with the pitter-patter of trickling water. Everil led the way, as usual, a torch in one hand and her guard up. She listened for anything resembling the sinister voices when darkspawn came close. Felt for the pull of the taint when they gathered in large numbers. But while she and Alistair could detect them from afar, what made traveling through these dark, claustrophobic spaces even more unnerving, was that the darkspawn could detect them too.

“Impressive golem you have here," Oghren commented quietly, gazing up at Shale. “I didn't think these things existed anymore.”

“How rude… It can speak to me directly,” Shale retorted in annoyance.

“Oh, so you have a temper!” He let out a rough chuckle. “You almost sound like a woman.”

Shale glared down at him. “That’s because I am… female.” 

“Ooh… nice… Plump and powerful. Just the way I like ‘em." Oghren gave her a flirtatious smirk, unaffected by the golems towering height when compared to his. “Nothing like being thrown around in the sack by a strong woman.”

“Disgusting…” Shale’s expression darkened further, her eyes glowing menacingly in the dark. “It surely must not have much luck with the females of its kind.”

“Oh, I have had luck. If you were a dwarf I could show you why.” He snickered mischievously, licking his lips. “But just as a quick reference… It's like sticking your stone fist through a bronto’s arse.”

“By Andraste… Another one,” Alistair groaned as he tried to block out the mental pictures. For once, he could appreciate Sten’s silence, for every other man they brought along had the subtlety of an ogre in every conversation.

“That is no way to speak to a lady, ser," Wynne chastised gently, her firm, motherly tone leaving no room for argument.

“Sorry...” Oghren grumbled, sending her an awkward sideward glance. He looked on at the two Wardens walking side by side ahead of them, wondering about why the female was leading. What little he knew of human society included the lesser status of their women, some even refusing to allow them to take part in their military. He hadn’t heard of many female Grey Wardens either, despite the order’s occasional visits when they neared the end of their lives. “So… how come you’re the only two Wardens left?” he asked, curiosity getting the best of him. “I thought you lot were relevant.” 

Everil glanced over her shoulder. “We still are. Otherwise, we wouldn't be here doing the bidding of one of your lords.”

“I get the point there. But that still doesn't explain the rest.”

Alistair released a breath at having to repeat the story. “We're the only remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden because the rest of us were killed.”

“Killed…?” Oghren uttered in disbelief. 

Anger painted Alistair’s voice at the memories. “It was all thanks to a bloody bastard who betrayed us at the battle of Ostagar—which, by the way, was a great battle meant to stop the darkspawn from spreading north. Now, we’re here, trying to end the Blight on our own because the Grey Wardens stationed elsewhere are too far away to help.”

"There’s a Blight?” Oghren gave their backs a surprised look. “That's why you’re here?”

His question made the Wardens pause and send him incredulous stares. Alistair blinked at him. “You dwarves don't hear much from the surface, do you?”

Oghren let out a dry chuckle. “Nope. Can't say we give a rat’s ass about it. Besides… a Blight just means we have darkspawn to kill, which is nothing new to us.”

“So we’ve heard.” He frowned, gazing down at him as they resumed walking. “But yes… That’s why we're here. Seeking help from the dwarves in the war.”

“Ah… Now I understand why you’re both running errands for that Harrowmont.” 

“Yes… I suppose you can call it that,” Everil muttered with a sigh. “At any rate… when are you going to tell us what Branka was searching for? What was so important that she risked going so deep into these ruins?”

Oghren hesitated for a moment before giving in to his promise. “She was searching for something called… The Anvil of the Void.”

“The Anvil of the Void?” Everil repeated in puzzlement.

“A legendary artifact used by Paragon Caridin to create our golems during the First Blight. They say the Anvil still exists. In an ancient thaig that was taken over by the darkspawn.”

“Wait…” Shale jumped in with piqued interest as they neared a corner. “Was that what was used to create me?”

“Obviously,” Oghren answered. “Which means you’re pretty old, lady. That thing’s been missing for centuries. Branka wanted to build more golems. Said it would help protect the city from more darkspawn atta—”

The snap of several bowstrings reverberated from the darkness before them.

“Look out!” Alistair grabbed Everil and pulled her to him, causing her to drop the torch as he used his shield to protect them both from flying arrows. Shale moved in front of Wynne to shield her as Bjorn also took cover behind the golem. Oghren swung his axe to deflect the attacks, knocking them out of the air.

After the wave of arrows subsided, Everil withdrew just enough to gaze up at Alistair. But he wasn’t looking at her, instead, his glare was set on the shadows. She followed his line of vision as the still-lit torch rolled over the ground, revealing a group of armed dwarves charging at them. “Kill the Wardens!” one cried out. “Don't let them through!”

Releasing his hold on her, Alistair took a step forward and engaged one of them, locking blades with him. She drew her weapons, running up to dodge an axe and slash another dwarf’s throat.

“Who the hell are these guys?” Oghren shouted as he downed one.

“My guess is they’re Prince Bhelen’s men!“ Everil shouted, sidestepping to evade a hit, then bringing her dagger around, stabbing its wielder on the nape. She pulled the blade out, blood spurting out of him as he fell.

Shale swooped down, taking out multiple enemies and sending their crushed bodies flying while Wynne froze several others. Oghren and Bjorn took the opportunity, shattering their bodies into a hundred pieces. Alistair deflected a sword with his shield, and slashed downward, stabbing through the dwarf's chest before kicking him off. 

Once the battle was over, Everil surveyed the area, then gazed at her companions. “Is everyone all right?”

“We're well, and certainly grateful Shale was here,” Wynne said, giving the golem a smile.

“My pleasure." Shale offered her a friendly nod. Despite her prior attitude towards them, she seemed to get along well with the old mage.

“All good here too,” Oghren said, swinging his axe clean before putting it away at his back.

Letting out a breath, Alistair dropped onto a knee to wipe his sword on a body’s gambeson. “I have the feeling that these idiots were looking for the Paragon too.”

“I doubt we'll encounter more of them further in, but let's keep our eyes open regardless,” Everil said as she sheathed her weapons. 

They kept moving through the cave until they were back to the underground highway, where crumbling columns at each side held oil lamps for light. Everil put out their torch and strapped it to her hip for later use before leading again, gazing up and around the ruins. It was both impressive and sad how widespread the dwarves had once been before the darkspawn nearly wiped them out. She had to admire their resilience and stubbornness to keep traditions that were older than even Andrastian faith. 

But through the quiet wonder, the evil voices whispered in her mind, a sign of what was to come. 

“There are darkspawn ahead,” she told her companions as they neared the other side of Caridin’s Cross, the familiar pull of the taint tugging at her blood.

“A large group of them,” Alistair added with a frown.

“Took long enough to run into those sodded things,” Oghren grumbled, rolling his neck and shoulders. “Let’s have at ‘em.”

They approached a corner and Everil motioned for them to press against the wall, low growls reaching their ears. She dropped on a knee and slowly stuck her head out to survey the battleground. A small fort blocked their way, protected by three ballistae aimed towards any incoming intruders. 

“I’m surprised they haven't noticed we’re here,” Alistair whispered next to her, peeking from above her.

“I don't believe they're as smart in smaller numbers… They probably operate in a sort of hive mind,” Everil whispered back. “We have to destroy the ballistae before we charge.” She rose and addressed each of her companions. “Wynne, I want you to aim one of your strongest fire spells between the ballistae. I will take care of the genlocks operating them first and keep any others from replacing them while you cast. Shale, I want you to protect Wynne against any long-range weapons, as she will be defenseless while casting. Alistair, Oghren, and Bjorn will charge and help eliminate the rest.”

Shale nodded. “Understood.”

“Got it,” said Wynne.

Drawing her bow, Everil once again moved closer to the edge of the wall and readied her weapon. She didn't have a clear shot to the genlocks, but all she needed was to take one out before they could all fire at once. 

She inhaled a breath, then ran out of cover.

One of them spotted her first, but by the time it prepared to fire, she'd already shot an arrow. It hit it square in the forehead, downing it. The ones next to it released their spears, but she was one step ahead, rolling onto a knee as they flew over her. Everil shot again, killing the next one. Then another arrow got the third just before it could reload. “Now!” she cried out.

Wynne ran forth and summoned her magic, while Shale moved to stand beside her. Alistair, Oghren, and Bjorn rushed downhill to the incoming darkspawn, killing several of them as they came. Preparing her bow again, Everil climbed onto a boulder for higher ground, raining arrows over any enemies attempting to reclaim their heavy weapons. One of them pulled a bow of its own, trying to shoot back at her, only for her hound to tackle and maul it to death.

Tapping deep into her mana, Wynne called upon a whirlwind of flames, enveloping all ballistae. She moved her arms, twisting and molding the fire as it grew hotter and hotter. They turned to ash, while also incinerating any darkspawn within range.

Moments later the creatures lay dead, burnt bodies and severed limbs bleeding over the road. With a huff, Everil hopped off her perch and put away her bow. “That went well. Good work.”

Oghren grinned wickedly. “There'll be more soon, I’m sure...” 

“And we'll be ready for them,” she replied before pulling the map from her bag, unrolling it to look at their location. “This path leads to one of the thaigs… Ortan Thaig.”

“That’s where Branka took her whole House on the expedition,” Oghren said as he wiped darkspawn blood off his beard, a hint of longing flashing over his eyes. “With luck, that’s where we’ll find her…”

Everil cast him a curious glance. “You speak as if you two were close.”

“She was my wife,” he grunted, producing a flask from his waist pouch and taking a long swig. He belched. “Things didn't work out.” 

“Oh, I wonder why…?” Shale uttered in mild amusement.

He shrugged, brushing off the golem’s words. “At any rate, we should keep moving before more of these sodded things come to check on their buddies.”

Everil gave him a firm nod. “Agreed. Let’s go.” 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Their feet ground over small rocks and dirt as they trekked through another dark tunnel. Gone were the oil lamps that once illuminated their path. Now everything left were the shadows Everil’s torch created as they moved past crumbled columns and boulders. The path twisted and turned, empty and as icy as death’s fingers. None of them dared speak for a while, hesitant to draw any attention to themselves.

They were nearing Ortan Thaig, one of the old settlements once built by dwarves in ancient days before the First Blight.

After what felt like hours, they finally saw a light at the end of their path. A strange, blue hue that didn’t seem natural. They neared the exit with caution in their step, trying to see past the darkness until they emerged into what appeared to be a massive chamber with dwarven buildings. The blue glow became brighter, originating from spectral blue flames on ancient hearths that cast ominous shadows over the ruins.

There was a shaky breath as Wynne shuddered, her voice coming as nearly a whisper. “It feels… as if there’s magic in this place...”

“How?” Oghren muttered beside her. “We dwarves don’t have those gifts of yours…”

“No… this feels different… Cold. Like at the Circle of Magi when blood mages tore the veil to the Fade.”

“Well… there was a lot of death here when the First Blight hit,” Alistair said as they wandered into the desolate roads. “Doesn’t the veil get weaker when too many souls press against it? Maybe that’s where these blue fires are coming from...”

“I don’t think that’s it…” she sighed and shook her head. “Dwarves have no connection to the Fade… They can’t dream. That’s why they can’t use magic and why they won’t cross the veil.”

“We return to the Stone when we die,” Oghren added. “Our souls don’t go into some magical land, like the lot of you. That feeling you’re having’s probably some lingering darkspawn curse or something... I’m even getting the chills right now.”

They passed deserted stone houses as they went, dwarven statues posted in every corner, holding hammers and other tools of their trade. After trekking for another mile or so, they crossed over a long bridge that extended through a wide chasm, connecting another part of the thaig into what appeared to have been a town square. Skeletons lay in the dust where they walked, some still wearing pieces of armor or scraps of clothing. Forgotten remnants of those who used to live there before the darkspawn massacred everyone therein.

Everil’s heart twisted uncomfortably at the scenery, her lips pressed into a tense line. A sobering realization dawned on her.  _ This is what Ferelden will look like if we fail… Maker, we can’t— _

Whispers invaded her mind, cutting her contemplation short and causing her to whip her head in the taint’s direction. The sound of running steps tore through the eerie quiet, joined by the growls and the familiar stench of the darkspawn. “They’re coming!” Everil alerted her party, dropping her torch and drawing her sword.

A large group of hurlocks and genlocks stormed the square, one of them wielding a staff. They clashed with them, quickly surrounding them and cutting off any escape routes. 

Oghren roared as he blocked and shoved off two enemies, swinging his massive axe again to slice open their middles. With a groan, Shale raised both her arms and slammed, crushing three darkspawn under her massive fists. Meanwhile, Wynne stood by the stone giant, flinging bolts of electricity towards a few others and shocking them fried.

One, two, three more fell as Everil weaved her way through three hurlocks, stopping to block a mace from a fourth. She parried and sliced its throat with her dagger, then spun about, flinging it at a fifth at her rear. Her hound then tackled a genlock, biting its face and crushing a corner of its skull under his powerful jaws.

With gritted teeth, Alistair knocked away the swing from a hurlock’s blade and thrust, piercing its chest. Then came another, trying to get him from behind. The Warden whirled around with his blade flying in an arch, slashing open its neck. And then the spark of magic had his head snap towards the genlock with the staff. The darkspawn unleashed a stream of fire that scorched everything in its path, aimed directly at the party. 

Shale stomped to it, standing in its way and using her immortal body to shield the others behind her. Arms crossed over her face, she blocked the flames until the genlock spent its spell. “Vermin…” she growled, her body glowing red where the attack had hit. 

With eyes focused on his new target, Alistair ran around the golem and charged. The genlock cackled as he came. It attempted to summon another spell, but it stalled midway as if blocked by some unseen force. It took a step back, confused and surprised. 

“No more magic for you!” taunted the Warden as he closed the distance, sword swinging and slicing its head clean off. Blood gushed out from the stump of a neck as the creature crumbled in a heap on the ground. 

Silence returned once the battle was over. Blowing out a breath, Everil stepped up and retrieved her dagger from the hurlock’s corpse, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. She glanced over the others, seeing them soiled with blood and dirt, but unharmed. “We should keep moving,” she said, motioning for them to follow. Keeping quiet, they tiptoed through rubble and over more old remains, heading north of the ruins.

More emptiness greeted them when they exited the residential part of the thaig, walking out into another chamber, this one wide open. Only a sliver of sunshine peeked from the ceiling, giving the place just enough light to see.

“Are you sure Bianka and her House were coming here?” Everil asked Oghren as they walked. 

“Aye…” he huffed, his face scrunched up. “Unless they moved on... “

“The map doesn’t say where to go from here…” she said with a knitted brow. 

Something shifting nearby made them halt and reach for their weapons, but whatever it was, scurried away before they could take a better look. 

“Did you see that?” Wynne whispered, edging closer to her.

“I did...” replied Everil. 

They neared the spot where they'd seen the movement, noticing the massive silk webs clinging to their surroundings. Everil gulped, recalling their visit to the elven temple and her encounter with its spiders.

Their stares went to the ground, where a dead genlock lay over a pool of its own blood, the nerves still twitching. 

“I don't think we were the ones who killed this one…” Everil uttered uncomfortably, kneeling over it to inspect it. Small bite marks riddled its flesh while spiderweb partially wrapped its limbs as if it had been dug out from one of the cocoons on the walls. 

“Mine!”

Everil’s head snapped towards the angry voice as she instinctively swatted at an object thrown at her. The piece of metal clattered over the ground and away from her, while her aggressor stood a distance to the side. It was a dwarf whose clothes were in tatters and whose face was as pale as ash. And she didn't yet know why, but he looked more dead than alive.

Seeing he was unarmed, she raised a hand to keep her companions from attacking. “Who are you?" was her stern question as she pushed herself to her feet.

He shrunk away at her tone, fear etched over his pasty features as he gazed up at her through pitch-black eyes. “Please don't be angry, pretty lady... Ruck is sorry!” he pleaded, dirty hands frantically wiping dark blood from his mouth. “Ruck is just hungry!”

“Wait…” Alistair took a step and gave him a disturbed look. “Was he eating that darkspawn corpse just now?”

“Ruck, huh? I've heard that name before,” Oghren said, unaffected by the gruesome scene. “Some kid who disappeared in the Deep Roads years ago. Not much food down here, so the poor sod's probably been eating these monsters to survive.”

“Darkspawn blood is poisonous… I'm surprised he’s even still alive...” Alistair muttered, his nose still curled in disgust.

Oghren huffed. “He’s not the first dwarf to end up like this, either. My people call them ghouls—the living dead. Every once in a while one of them makes their way back to Orzammar. They rarely live this long.” 

“Ruck is your name then,” Everil spoke to the boy, her words much softer after hearing Oghren’s story.

An eerie grin tugged at his chapped lips. “Ruck is Ruck’s name, yes.”

“A pleasure to meet you. My name is Everil.” She offered him a slight smile in greeting. “My friends and I are looking for a group of dwarves who lost their way here. Have you seen them?”

“There…” He paused for a moment, scratching his blistered cheek while his eyes strayed as if distracted by something unseen. “There were once… but large creeper monsters carry them away. They takes things of paper and metal. They takes the shinies and the words.”

“Creeper monsters… Spiders?”

“Spiders, yes. But Ruck steals things from thems sometimes, and from the ones that don't move—Oh!” Ruck suddenly hobbled towards her, walking as if hunchbacked. He extended his hand to her, speaking eagerly. “Pretty lady Ruck’s guest now! Follow Ruck! Ruck find many treasures!”

She hesitated. “Treasures? From the dwarves we seek?”

He nodded, his smile never fading. 

“He may have clues on where Branka and her people went,” Oghren offered. She glanced at him with a nod before taking the ghoul’s hand, letting him guide her towards a nearby cave. The others followed closely. 

The warmth and light of a campfire welcomed them when the group entered, revealing a pile of shimmering stones and metals by a makeshift bed. Another stack of items lay in a corner, this one made up of weapons and armor. Potions sat neatly on a flat rock nearby, the polished glass beautifully reflecting the flames. They were all items he’d likely gathered from corpses in the thaig. Perhaps even from unfortunate victims the darkspawn had dragged underground. 

Ruck released her hand and took a necklace from a stash of jewelry, presenting it to her. “Ruck think pretty lady look like this… Shining beautiful.”

“You’re being hit on by a dead man. Isn't that flattering?” Oghren teased with a sarcastic grin and an elbow to her hip.

After sending him a hopeless glance, Everil returned her gentle stare to the ailing dwarf. “Thank you, Ruck. That’s very sweet of you. But do you know what I need more than shining stones? Paper from those people I told you about.”

“Paper…” he muttered, tossing the piece of jewelry back into the pile as if it were trash. He scurried to a corner where books and scrolls lay, rummaging through them, muttering to himself. After a few moments, he returned to her with a scroll in his hand. “Ruck found this!"

She took it and opened it. “It's a map.”

“Let me see it.” Oghren snatched it from her. “This has Branka written all over it… It says they camped further in. We can follow this there.”

“Perfect,” Everil asserted with a nod, then gazed at Ruck. “Thank you, Ruck. You have been of great help.”

But the ghoul didn't seem satisfied with her gratitude. “No!” With a growl, he ripped the map from Oghren’s grasp, holding it to his chest. “Paper mine!”

Oghren glowered at him, going for his axe. “Give it back you sodded—”

“Wait." Everil placed a hand on her companion’s shoulder, interrupting his angry outburst, earning a scowl. She brushed it off, coaxing their host. "I thought you wanted to give me the map, Ruck.” 

He shook his head. “No! Only show! My treasures!”

“Hmm…” She smiled a little. “How about we trade for it instead?”

“I don't get it," Oghren grumbled. “Why don't we just kill him and take everything? The bastard’s dead anyway. Might as well put him out of his misery.” 

Everil shot him a glare. “We are not killing an innocent. This man’s fate is his own, not ours to dictate.”

“Hmph… Suit yourself.” Oghren waved her off, spun around, and stubbornly crossed his arms.

“So what do you say?” She leaned over Ruck with hands on her knees, as if speaking to a child. “Would you like to trade with me? I can give you one of my treasures in exchange for yours.”

Ruck visibly mauled over her proposal. "What… treasure?"

Alistair observed them as the dwarf’s guard dropped under her gentle stare. She had incredible cunning, capable of efficiently disarming people by either staring them down or persuading them into doing what she wanted. But there was always kindness behind her intentions, even when threatening a foe into submission. After all, there was no need for bloodshed if you could sway your opponent into changing their ways. It was a trait of hers he both loved and admired. One he hoped to learn himself one day too.

"Let's see…" Everil reached into her pocket, producing a coin. “Would a silver do?” 

“Silver…” His face scrunched up at her offering.

She blinked. A silver coin for a piece of paper was far beyond a good deal. “Then... what do you want in exchange?”

For a few seconds, he seemed pensive, his gaze shifting over her features. Then a grin spread over his mouth, showing teeth rotten with decay. “Pretty lady can have paper for a kiss...”

“A what?” Alistair blurted out before he could stop himself.

"All right…" Everil ignored him, her sights set on their goal. "Close your eyes," she instructed, at which Ruck nodded excitedly and did as he was told. 

A subtle pang of jealousy and revulsion crawled its way into Alistair’s chest as he watched her lean closer to the ghoul. But instead of the lips, Everil softly kissed his clammy brow. 

“There.” She chuckled, then extended her open hand. “May I have the map now, please?"

"Y-Yes…" Ruck numbly relinquished the scroll, staring at her as if entranced. 

“Thanks.” The Warden straightened and faced her companions, smirking at a job well done. “We have what we need now. Let’s go.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

With the map in one hand and the torch in the other, Everil led them into an area no longer lit by the blue flames from before. Spiderwebs covered every corner, glimmering under her flame as skeletons and half-decayed darkspawn hung from their wispy tendrils. An icy shiver ran down Everil’s spine, pictures of those large, pulsating bodies and hairy legs making her shudder. _ Ugh… I hate those things _ …

“You know... you had me a little nervous with the dwarf back there," Alistair uttered in a hushed tone beside her, leaning close so only she could hear.

"Huh?" She knitted her eyebrows at him, at first not quite registering what he meant. Then she smiled and rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you were jealous of that poor man...” 

“No…” He shamefully rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, a little… But not like that… I was nauseated and mostly annoyed that he'd even dare ask you for something like that. He’d just had a dead genlock for dinner, for Maker’s sake.”

“I just… I pitied him...” she sighed, gazing into the darkness stretching out in front of them. “He had this... haunted look while constantly staring off into space… As if he were listening to voices in his head. It made me wonder if he could hear the Archdemon, as we do. And if, in a way… we are just like him.”

“No… We’re not...” Alistair's eyes were downcast, suddenly feeling sorry for the dwarf. "We harness the power of the taint and use it against our enemies. Ruck is… yet another victim.”

She drew in a breath and shook her head, her voice filled with uncertainty. “What bothers me the most is knowing that many on the surface are probably suffering the same fate as Ruck… Women… Children… Innocent people…”

"Everil…" Alistair gently stroked her back, trying his best to reassure her. “All we can do is try to help those we can… Remember?”

“Yes… Yes, I know..." She licked her lips, his calming gesture helping ease some of the tension. "I just hope we'll be able to do this and save more than are lost…”

Oghren observed the Grey Wardens as he and the others trailed behind them, curious as to why they were whispering to themselves. He gazed up to Wynne, who was walking next to him. “Something going on between those two?”

The old woman craned her head down, smirking lightly at the question. “You could say that...”

It didn't take long for them to reach the enormous room marked on the map. A tall ceiling rose over their heads, so high the torch's light couldn't reach. The scent of dust and rot saturated their noses, making their stomachs churn. Everil scanned their surroundings while raising the torch, and her heart raced at the sheer number of bodies stuck to the walls. Like decorations. Or morsels saved for later.  _ I don’t like this… _

“I found something!”

They spun to Oghren, who had knelt over a dying campfire in the distance. Cautiously, the group headed towards him, trying not to step on the sticky webs on the ground. Cooking utensils and torn tents surrounded the dimming flames, but there were no traces of the owners.

Oghren leaned over one box, shifting through the pages of a book that had been left over it. His bushy eyebrows furrowed, determined eyes trying to make up the words. Everil held her torch above him, receiving a grateful nod from him before he read the text. “The Dead Trenches… That's where they went…" he read out loud, then grabbed a page and ripped it before handing it to her "Here, she drafted another map. It should lead us to it."

"Good...” she said, blowing up her bangs.

Bjorn let out a low growl, drawing their attention. He was facing the back of the chamber, baring his fangs as a thumping sound reached their ears. Everil narrowed her eyes and walked to stand beside her hound. “Wynne, give us more light,” she commanded.

The mage summoned her flames, setting the spider webs covering the ground on fire. It spread, reaching into the dark shadows and revealing long, hairy legs, massive bodies, and hundreds of gleaming eyes that were currently creeping towards them. They spread apart, opening a path for a much more massive one. Great legs stomped past them, the creature's abdomen ten times bigger as it pulsed with unborn eggs. It stopped a distance from them, jagged mandibles spreading as its screech pierced through their ears like claws scratching glass.

“Ancestor’s tits!” Oghren pulled out his axe, backing away at its overwhelming size. 

Wynne lifted her hands, causing the flames to burst and burn the first row of spiders, stopping the rest in their tracks. 

“Kill the small ones first!” Everil shouted as she charged, slicing through the first. 

Bjorn tackled another, chewing up its body. The others also ran in, taking on the approaching numbers. Oghren sliced through one, then brought his axe down on another, scattering body parts everywhere. A spider shot out its web, enveloping his weapon and keeping him from swinging it as another pounced on him, knocking him onto his back. He brought up his armored arm, blocking its bite. “You sodded vermin!” 

A dagger stabbed through its head as it let out a cry, then someone kicked it off him, allowing him to roll over and slice through the one still trying to steal his axe. He turned to Everil with a grateful grin. “Appreciate it.”

She gave him a half-smile. "Thank me later."

Shale pummeled through several of them, crushing their bodies with her fists and splattering their remains upon the ground. 

Despite killing many, more of the arachnids kept crawling, stepping over those they vanquished.

Then their mage cast another spell, covering the creatures in a sea of fire as they shrieked in agony. One of them broke through its burning brethren, stomping in her direction. Panting from mana exertion, Wynne swung her arm, sending an arch of fire upwards and onto the enemy. It cried out and fell on its back, its legs twitching as it shriveled up. Another tried to attack her from the side but met Alistair's sword instead. “Don’t worry, I won't let them near you," he assured their mother figure, standing between her and the monsters.

She smiled wearily at him. “Thank you, Alistair…” 

Everil stabbed one in the head as it tried to bury its fangs on her and then turned around to slash the legs of another. As she did, the larger spider tried to stomp down on her, forcing her to jump out of the way as its front limbs. It screeched and turned to her again, its abdomen pulsing before shooting its web at one of her legs. 

“Blast it!” she bit out as she hit the ground. She rolled onto her back, struggling to cut off the sticky thing as the creature dragged her towards it.

With a roar, Oghren ran and brought his axe down on the web, cutting it and releasing her from its hold. “I got you, Warden!” He reached down and took her hand, helping her up. 

“Thanks!” she said with a nod.

Alistair and Shale made their way towards them as Everil’s eyes went up to the towering monster, her features etched with determination. “Let’s take down the legs, then we can focus on the body.”

As if knowing their plan, the spider charged at them, screeching angrily. The Grey Wardens went in first, crying out before splitting up in opposite directions to target the legs at each side. They slashed through one each, making the spider scream. Oghren ran between the legs, coming out from behind and cutting through one of the back limbs. With fewer arms to hold up its massive weight, it fell heavily, lifting ash and dust from the ground. Shale took the opportunity, stomping forth to bring her fists upon it, smashing it repeatedly and turning it into a pulp of green goo. 

It let out a drowning cry and then lay dead, its guts spilling around it. Everil walked up to the golem, nodding up at her before taking in the damage they caused, the flames Wynne cast slowly dimming. 

“All right!” Oghren kicked another creature, spreading more of its green juice. “How do you like that, you sodded freaks!” He gazed at his comrades, a wide grin on his soiled face. “I knew I made the right choice tagging along with you people.”

“I'm pleased you think so. Though I wouldn't celebrate until we’re back in Orzammar.” Everil grimaced, wiping gore from her cheek before pulling out the third map Branka left behind. “So… our next destination is the Dead Trenches…”

Alistair put on a humorless smile, folding his arms. “What a cheerful name...” 

“It was one of our best fortresses… We tried reclaiming it many times over the ages, but we lost it to the darkspawn each time,” Oghren said as he walked up to them, gazing up at them. “I hear it’s also where you Grey Wardens go during your err… last visit.”

“Ah… right… Luckily we’re not here for that... At least not yet," Alistair replied, an uncomfortable feeling settling over his chest. He'd forgotten the name of the place… and Duncan never had the chance to give them information about how to reach it.

Everil felt the same dread, but she tried to ignore it, letting a corner of her lips go up. She gave the map to the dwarf this time. He deserved the honors after helping them this far. “Take us there, Oghren.” 

He nodded. “You got it.”


	22. The Dead Trenches

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ D _ _ isembodied whispers crowded Everil's _ head, the taint pulling on her being as one would a string. It yanked on her blood, its call ever stronger the closer they came to the infernal red glow at the end of this long, dark tunnel. Bestial growls and demonic cries joined in a growing crescendo, chanting to the beat of the thousand marching feet thundering ahead like a raging storm. The pungent smell of rotting flesh and sweat and waste pervaded the already thin air, saturating every breath in an almost overwhelming stench. 

Hesitating, the Wardens and their party emerged from the cave and into a large chamber. A glowing chasm split the ground, circling a towering dwarven structure while casting everything in its hellish hue. Forcing down her nausea, Everil led them closer to look over the edge. And her blood ran cold at what she saw below. 

Hundreds. Thousands of torches flowed like a river along its depths as a legion of darkspawn went to war in their full, unstoppable force. Their numbers crowded the vast cliff, extending its entire length while more spawned from the black beyond the horizon.

“Andraste’s mercy…” Wynne gasped beside her. “Look at them...”

“We could never defeat them all… Not even with a unified Ferelden,” Everil uttered, the burden on their shoulders made heavier by the true scope of their task.

A deafening roar shook the ground as a great beast shot up from the deep like an eruption.

They jumped back with startled cries and they all stared in horror at the thing of nightmares, time itself standing still in fright.

Midnight black scales shimmered with the fiery red of the flames as it flew over them. Its mighty cries pierced through the darkspawn's mindless cadence and filled the Wardens’ heads with dark, unintelligible words. Its influence stood supreme. Its presence suffocating. Calling to them. Commanding them to follow and join the ranks of its soldiers as they headed for battle against man, dwarf, and elf alike. 

All were to be punished. All were to be conquered. 

All were to be vanquished in the name of the Old God.

“The Archdemon...” Everil breathed, an indescribable fear gripping her chest as her instincts screamed for her to flee. To hide.

It landed heavily, claws burying in the rock as it perched itself atop the stone bridge ahead. With a great, ear-piercing roar, it released a stream of searing purple fire, rallying its army as the darkspawn raised their weapons with a fervent battle cry. 

“That’s the beast you have to kill?” Oghren muttered, his body tensing with the craving to fight, while reason demanded he stay away.

As if hearing Oghren's words, it snapped its head towards the group, surprising them all. It set its sights on the two Grey Wardens and its blood-red eyes narrowed as a deep growl rumbled from deep within its throat. Alistair and Everil could only stare back, rooted to the spot as the monster’s penetrating glare seemed to pierce into their very souls.

With a vicious snarl, the Archdemon turned its back to them, and with one last frightening roar, it took to the air once more. It flapped massive wings, releasing gusts of wind that swept throughout the chamber as it rose towards a wide fissure above it, disappearing through the ceiling as the darkspawn followed from the ground.

“Maker’s breath…” Alistair said in barely a whisper, finally finding the ability to speak. “It… It didn't even care about us being here. It just… ignored us as if we were nothing...”

“Yes... and now it's headed towards the surface… To Ferelden." Everil's hands closed into fists, her fear giving way to anger and renewed determination.

That the dragon left its lair meant they were running out of time. The Blight had spread far enough to make the creature feel secure and emboldened. And it was now heading the next assault upon her homeland, intent on ravaging and destroying it. If they didn't finish their job soon, there would be no Ferelden left to save.

Her jaw set stubbornly. Even while outnumbered, defeat was not an option. She would not let it win. 

“All right…” She whipped around to her companions. “Let’s keep moving.”

At her command they walked along the fissure, quickening their pace into a run, heading for the stone bridge the dragon had stood upon. A sizeable group of darkspawn saw them coming as they crossed, their numbers blocking their advance as they rushed to meet them, armed and ready.

“Charge!” Everil screamed, drawing her weapons as she ran. They followed.

With a cry of her own, Wynne let her magic surge through her, unleashing a freezing wave upon the darkspawn's path, the ice crawling its way up their bodies. Everil and Alistair didn't top, their blades tearing through their frozen forms, shattering them into pieces, before slashing through the stragglers on their way through. They moved on without looking back to see if they left any standing, heading for the next group of enemies, while their mage kept a safe distance at the rear. The monsters stood between them and the gates to the Anvil’s resting place, gathering over the steps to keep them from entering.

The genlocks aimed and fired their arrows down at them while Everil dodged and swiped at the projectiles with her sword, rushing up the steps and burying her blades into the first enemy as Oghren and Shale took care of those trying to flank them from the sides. The dwarf roared, nearly slicing a hurlock in half, while the golem pummeled several at once.

After stabbing a genlock, Alistair crossed the distance to the door, pushing it open for the party to dash in. He stepped in with them and Shale slammed the gate shut, using her hands to twist the iron handles into a knot just as the darkspawn began to bang on it. “It will not keep them out long, but it will do for now,” she told them, turning glowing blue eyes to her panting companions. 

“Good enough... Thank you, Shale," Everil replied, wiping sweat from her brow. "How are you faring, Wynne?”

The old mage nodded with a reassuring smile, out of breath herself. “I only need a minute to regain some of my mana.”

“Very well... But I'm afraid that’s all we’ll have.” Everil gave her a pat on the shoulder and took a few steps past her.

“This place is gigantic…” Alistair stared in amazement at the towering ruins stretching before them. He was standing next to Oghren as Everil approached them from behind.

“Its actual name was Bownammar—the City of the Dead—before we lost it over and over to the darkspawn. Dwarven architecture at its finest. Caridin himself designed it,” Oghren said proudly, producing his flask of liquor. “It used to belong to the Legion of the Dead—a special branch of our military. Soldiers who give up their lives in life to defeat their enemy at any cost. It's a damned shame these sodded bastards took it from us.” He grumbled as he uncorked it and then took a swig.

Everil crossed her arms, a frown creasing her brow. “How in Andraste’s name did Branka make it through here?”

“She’s the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. That should tell you something, considering I'm a dwarf who also happens to live in a city full of other dwarves.” Oghren then belched, drawing a disgusted look from the Wardens before taking another drink, his plump nose turning a shade of red. A scowl then settled over his face. “Unfortunately, we got no map for this area here… We’ll have to take our chances exploring.”

Everil nodded. “We’ll avoid enemies as best we can. I don’t want to waste time or risk any of us getting injured.” 

“And where’s the fun in that?” He chuckled gruffly. “You’re right though. As much as I enjoy tearing these sons of bitches apart, there’s way too many here for just the six of us.”

“You should come with us after we're done here. There are plenty more to fight on the surface," Alistair said with a sarcastic smile. "It might even make you feel homesick.”

“Hrmph…” Oghren smirked up at him. “You know, that actually sounds tempting. Never been to the surface before.”

A powerful bang interrupted them, preceded by a monstrous roar as the gates shook under heavier assault.

Everil glanced at the noise. “Time’s up. Let’s go.”

“Right behind you.” Oghren put away his flask and drew his axe, a smirk still splitting his face.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The fortress was more of a gigantic crypt. The Wardens and their party trekked through the resting place of several dead dwarves when they stumbled upon more darkspawn, the narrow passages making it difficult to evade them. Everil kicked at a genlock, pushing it off her blades as a hurlock stepped over it to strike down at her, forcing her to block. She shoved its sword aside and sliced sideways, cutting its throat as her companions defeated more of them.

Another snuck up behind her. She whirled around, using her momentum to cut its head off. More of them gathered in the narrow passage, giving them little room to maneuver. Getting cornered was not an option. 

“We can't fight here! Keep moving!” Everil commanded, motioning for them to run ahead of her. The group rushed past her before Everil went after them, the darkspawn giving chase. While running, she stepped on a loose tile and heard a click, something she instantly regretted.

She let out a squeal and leaped forward just in time to dodge a pair of enormous blades that lashed out in a criss-cross. Heart racing, she shakily turned onto her back, propping herself up to look. Several darkspawn fell into a pile of limbs, blood, and gore, on the very spot she'd been standing on but a moment before.

“Maker’s breath!” Alistair and the others rushed toward her. “What was that?”

Everil gulped. “A trap... As if this place wasn’t welcoming enough.” She let him pull her up by the arm. "I suppose that’s something more we will have to watch out for.”

“Aye…” Oghren agreed. “Caridin probably has more waiting just around the corner.”

“Marvelous…” Wynne muttered beside him.

Alistair sighed, gazing at the growling darkspawn still standing behind the trap. They seemed to hesitate, pacing angrily by the dismembered bodies of their peers. “Well, at least that’ll keep them from following us...”

They emerged from the crypt and stepped out to another open chamber. Large double doors stood at the far side, towering over them. Their steps echoed around them as Everil neared one of them, reaching out to open it. 

Her hand froze halfway and she whirled around. “More incoming!”

Two loud roars made her friends turn to a pair of ogres emerging from opposite sides of the room, looking to flank the party while drool dripped from their open maws. They stomped towards them like walking statues, lined with muscle, and with their blank stares focused on them.

“Aw, great…” Alistair groaned, resisting the urge to back away.

One of them hunched over, preparing to charge.

“Run!” Everil shouted in alarm.

And run they did, scattering as the beast rushed them with its horns. 

The last ogre she and Alistair defeated during the battle of Ostagar had been their first, and the monster was tough to take down by just the two of them. Thankfully, they now had more numbers and their companions were skilled enough to stand their ground. Still, two ogres at once was pushing their luck. The group met up at once side, warily facing the creatures. “We should use the same tactic as last time,” Alistair told Everil, eyes on the slowly approaching monsters.

“Right.” Everil turned to their mage. “Wynne, can you freeze their legs?”

Wynne briefly scanned the enemy. “Their frames are too large, but I can slow them down.”

“Do it.” Everil then addressed the others. “We'll begin with our friend on the right. Aim for the knees. Make them buckle under its weight. Also, try not to let them grab you.”

“Let's do this!” Oghren barked with a smirk.

With a wave of her staff, Wynne cast the spell, coating the beasts' legs in icy crystals that slowed their advance. And then the others charged, the first ogre releasing a frustrated roar as they began slashing at its knees. Shale gave its kneecap a punch, forcing it to buckle as its blood splattered. Then it was Everil's turn. She kicked its bent knee and bolted up to its throat, thrusting her blade into its flesh. It roared and gurgled out blood as it plummeted onto its back with the Warden on top.

They then moved on to the next just as the creature swiped down to grab Oghren, who rolled to dodge it before striking at its knee. It roared in pain and threw a fist, hitting only air. Everil stabbed the back of its leg, while Oghren swung at the front. Roaring in agony, it fell with a hand on the ground before Oghren’s axe met its neck, slicing it open.

Once the giants lay dead, Everil glanced over her party with a slight smile and a nod. She sheathed her blades and strode to the doors. Her companions followed her, all keeping their guard up. Then she opened one of them, the stench that surged from within instantly making her stomach flop. 

“Ugh…” Sickened, Everil carefully stepped in, greeted by a macabre sight. Piles of decomposing flesh covered the passage before them, dried blood and gore caked over the floors. It instantly reminded her of the horrors they witnessed at the Circle of Magi and the way demons tore apart and desecrated the dead.

Bjorn whined at the stench and Wynne covered her mouth, holding in the bile that threatened to rise as their feet squelched over the gore. “Maker… this is horrible.”

“I wonder what happened here,” Everil whispered, her voice strained.

“I… don't really want to know," Alistair muttered uncomfortably.

A distant whimper had them stop in their tracks.

_ “First day they come and catch everyone...” _

“Who goes there?” Everil called out towards the depths of the long corridor.

_ “Second day they beat us and eat some for meat…” _

The group willed themselves to move through the carnage, slow and steady, listening to the ominous female voice echoing from somewhere ahead.

_ “Third day the men are all gnawed on again…” _

_ “Fourth day we wait and fear for our fate…” _

“Whoever that is… she sounds familiar…” Oghren muttered, thick eyebrows pinched at the bridge of his nose.

_ “Fifth day they return and it's another girl's turn…” _

_ “Sixth day her screams we hear in our dreams…” _

_ “Seventh day she grew as in her mouth they spew…” _

Deeper they went, through what looked like the vowels of damnation, trudging over more indistinguishable blobs of death. And that voice stroked at their nerves, testing their resolve. 

_ “Eighth day we hated as she was violated…” _

_ “Ninth day she grins… and devours her kin…!” _

_ “Now she does feast as she became the beast…” _

They turned the corner and saw a bigger mound of flesh. A dwarven woman clad in soiled, beige robes knelt before it, her back turned to them as she ate something in front of her. Sensing their eyes on her, she twisted her head to gaze over her shoulder, a piece of foul meat hanging from her mouth, short brown hair sticking to a clammy face.

Everil was forced to look away, her gut twisting at the sight. 

“Ancestor’s balls…” Oghren took a step, shocked. “It’s Hespith…”

Alistair grimaced, revolted. “You… know her?”

“She’s Branka’s lover... The one she left me for when she found out she was more into women than men,” Oghren grumbled at the Warden, then cast hard, questioning eyes upon the other dwarf. “Hespith… What happened? Where’s Branka?"

She swallowed her meal and sluggishly rose to face them. Her skin was as white as ash, blisters lining her neck and forehead as if her own flesh were rotting. It took her time to focus on Everil, her voice distant. “What is this… a human? Feeding time brings only keen and clan…” She averted her stare, scratching the sores on her wrist. “I am cruel to myself… You are but a dream of strangers faces and open doors.”

Hespith licked her cracked lips, silent for a moment. Then she spoke, once again repeating those cryptic words. “First day they come and catch everyone…”

“What is that chant…?” Everil finally braved the question.

“It's what I've seen…” she answered, still refusing to look her in the eye. “What I will become... I force it into verse so that it is fantasy. Unreal. That's the only place I can hide. Because they make me… they make me eat… And then…” Guilt riddled her features, her voice strained. “All I could do was wish Laryn went first… I wished it upon her so I could be spared. But I had to watch. I had to see the change. How do you endure that? How did Branka endure?”

“Endure… Endure what?” Everil probed further, unsure about her willingness to hear, but unable to stop herself.

“What they are allowed to do…” Anger then painter her words. “What they think they must do! And Branka… Her lover and I could not turn her… Forgive her… But no. She cannot be forgiven! Not for what she did. Not for what she has become!”

Oghren scowled questioningly. “What do you mean? What's Branka done?"

“No!” Hespith snapped weakly, anguished tears threatening to spill from her blackened eyes. “I will not speak of her… Of what she did. Of what we have become! I will not turn! I will not become what I have seen! Not Laryn! Not Branka!” She pushed past them and ran as if fleeing from her own demons, heading further into that hellish corridor.

“Come on. She’ll lead us to where Branka went.” Oghren went ahead of them, hurrying after her. 

“How can you be so sure?” Everil frowned as she and the others followed his lead. 

“She’s the most loyal of the House. She may have lost it, but I’m sure that whatever mess Branka got herself into, she knows we can help her.” 

They quietly trailed Hespith as she continued to speak to herself. The words reverberated as if passing through the walls. Haunted. Pained.

“ _ She became obsessed… That is the word… but it is not strong enough. Blessed stone… there was nothing left in her but the Anvil.” _

_ “We tried to escape. But they found us. They took us all. Turned us.” _

_ “The men they kill… They're merciful...” _

_ “But the women… they want. They want to touch. To change until you are filled with them.” _

And Everil took in her story with a mixture of sadness and revulsion. Heard her torment and pictured the terrifying images in her mind. 

_ “They took Laryn. They made her eat the others. Our friends. She tore off her husband's face… and drank his blood! And while she ate… she grew… She swelled and turned gray. And she smelled like them. They remade her in their image. Then she made more of them…” _

_ “Broodmother…” _

The hallway ended on a set of double doors and Everil paused, feeling something’s presence within. She reached for the doorknob and slowly turned it as Oghren shifted beside her, while the others did the same behind her. And when they entered, what she found inside chilled her to the core. “Andraste’s mercy…” she breathed. 

The monster cast its empty stare upon them, wheezing through its nostrils and wiping drool from a lipless mouth with the back of its hand. A piece of chest armor dangled from its fat neck, dwarven made, the same mark from Branka's House painted over it. Rows of breasts lined down its grotesquely large torso and belly, while large tentacles twisted and writhed by the mass of flesh that was the bottom of its body. The stench of decay and bodily waste permeated the air they breathed, worse than in the hall they'd just crossed.

Resisting a gag, Everil gripped the door, struggling to keep herself from retching.

A howl escaped the creature as it appeared to strain, its tentacles reaching to pull something out from somewhere behind its rear. It brought it around and let it drop to the ground, the thing's body covered in green mucus, its features similar to those of the many genlock they'd slain before.

“What in the sodding...?” Oghren muttered, his face scrunched up. “That… That one of Branka's women?"

The genlock rose from the ground on unsteady feet, wobbling over to the monster that bred it from its loins. The mother whined again, birthing another and another, each one rising and stumbling before latching onto its ashen nipples, suckling upon them as it released an agonizing wail. More of them came crawling from around her, all seeking to feed, crowding it as they climbed over each other.

“Maker… This is…” Alistair swallowed, his own stomach struggling to endure. “This is how darkspawn reproduce. They turn captured women into… that… Now everything Hespith said makes sense...”

Wynne placed a hand over her chest. “The poor woman… No one deserves such a fate...” 

“How does it plan for us to reach the next door with it in the way?" Shale told Everil with a nonchalant tone, obviously not bothered by what they were seeing. “I highly doubt it will let us through without a fight.”

The Warden stepped forth, capturing the creature’s attention, and that of its newborn offspring. “That used to be a dwarf...” Everil began as her companions stepped up behind her. “Not anymore.”

The broodmother set pale, gray eyes on her.

She drew her blade. “Let’s avenge her by killing that which she was forced to be.” 

Its massive roar shook the chamber, joined by the screeches of its offspring. The newborn genlock detached themselves from it, gathering around it before lunging themselves at them.

“Kill them all, then focus on the broodmother!” Everil cried out as they came. 

Her sword swooshed as it cut down three of the brood, slicing through their naked bodies with ease. More rushed past her, aiming their tiny claws at the rest of the party. In moments, they surrounded them and black blood sprayed the ground, small limbs, and entrails covering the stone. But although they were easily dispatching the genlocks, they still managed to get past their defenses. 

Everil bit down a grunt when one latched onto her leg, its fangs and claws digging into the leather of her leggings. She punched it off her and brought her blade down on it, stabbing through its bulbous head. Another slashed at her thigh, leaving a few scratches before it met its end. Behind her, Oghren, Alistair, and her hound battled several more, receiving minor scratches and bites of their own. Shale swept over them with a giant swing, smashing through their bodies and splattering their remains against the walls. From the rear, Wynne summoned a wave of flames, scorching what remained. 

Seeing its children slaughtered, the broodmother released an ear-piercing screech that made them all cover their ears.

Oghren gritted his teeth. “You bitch!” 

Clicking her tongue, Everil kicked forth, intent on shutting it up. But it struck out with one of its tentacles, trying to smash her. She stopped and leaped out of the way, the force of the impact cracking the rock floor like a hammer. More tentacles shot out. One hit Alistair’s shield, knocking him back a few feet. The other slammed onto Shale, cracking one of the crystals adorning her body and nearly toppling her over. With a grunt, Everil rose and ran, closing the distance. She stabbed into its belly and Bjorn pounced, closing his powerful jaws on a tentacle, keeping it down and away from his mistress. Shale stomped quickly to the monster, punching a hole into its side. 

The broodmother screamed. 

Darkspawn answered its call, pouring into the breeding chamber. Hurlocks and genlocks jumped from a passage above, rushing between them and the mother. Their numbers swiftly separated them from it, their weapons clashing with theirs. 

Grunting, Alistair blocked a jagged blade with his shield, pushing it aside to plunge his sword into the hurlock’sgut. He pivoted on one foot to deflect another attack, then cut through the next. A genlock came in from behind him, its axe scraping his hip plates. Alistair slammed the edge of his shield onto its head, then thrust, plunging his blade into its skull.

Everil kicked at another hurlock’s feet, tripping it and pouncing on it to impale it. She bolted up and struck at a genlock, spinning and cutting across its face before burying her dagger into the side of its head. From the back of the chamber, Wynne cast a thunder spell, shocking several enemies. Using the opportunity, Oghren cut down each one. Until something wrapped around his neck, lifting him off the ground as he released a strangled cry.

“Oghren!” Everil called out.

The broodmother salivated, eyeing what was to be its next meal as Oghren struggled to break himself free.

Cursing under her breath, Everil sheathed her blades and readied her bow, aiming for the head. “Drop the dwarf!” She fired. The arrow impaled itself between its eyes and deep into its skull, causing it to release its hold on Oghren.

The broodmother whined and whimpered, black blood dripping down its face. Everil switched weapons once more, ready to end it. She bolted forward, sprinting in and climbing onto the monster’s back. Her blades swooshed in a criss-cross, lacerating the back of its neck and splitting apart its spine.

Finishing a spell, Wynne unleashed a searing wave of fire that burned all in its wake, her expert control keeping the flames focused only on their enemies. Then just as soon as it came, the blaze dissipated, leaving nothing but seared bodies. The old mage fell on her knees, panting heavily.

“Well done.” 

She gazed up towards the golem, who reached down to pat her back. Wynne could only smile tiredly, too drained to speak.

“Is everyone all right?” Everil asked the others as she hopped from the dead abomination, receiving a weak nod from Wynne and a happy bark from her hound. They were all bruised and dirty, but much of the blood had come from the darkspawn.

Panting for breath, Alistair strode to the grotesque being that had once been a dwarf, gazing up as the creature hung its head, too wide and heavy to fall over. And he wondered how many of these unfortunate victims lied in the Deep Roads. How many other innocents suffered the same fate.  _ I feel sick just thinking about it… _

“That's where they take us…” 

They all turned their eyes up to Hespith, who stood on the passage overhead, looking upon them while scratching her sores. “That's where they come from. That's why they hate us. That's why they need us. That's why they take us… That's why they feed us…”

“Hespith!” Oghren took a step, roaring at her, unable to comprehend what he’d just witnessed. What he’s heard. “Why did this—”

Everil’s hand gripped his shoulder, silencing him. 

“But the true abomination… is not that it occurred to us.” Hespith sobbed and shuddered. “It is that it was allowed... Branka, my love... The Stone has punished me, my dream-friends. I am dying of something worse than death. Betrayal…”

And she disappeared once more, her whimpers echoing through the chamber and beyond. In the dark corners of the ruins. Until they were heard no more.


	23. The Anvil of the Void

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ T _ _ he stories told of the darkspawn _ over the centuries paled in comparison to what Everil had witnessed since the Grey Wardens recruited her. Tales of how they raided villages in the night, dragging women and children back into the earth, never to be seen again. How they would ambush unsuspecting travelers, disembowel and devour them until there was nothing left but bloodstains on the dirt. It all was nothing but near fantasy until she lived it. And as they trekked through another dark, foul-smelling corridor in the Dead Trenches, she could now say that those stories felt more real now than ever. 

Hespith’s words lingered in her brain, tormenting her. If such fate awaited any woman captured by these monsters, then she didn’t want to imagine how many poor souls suffered through such torture. Through such pain. Only to be forgotten and mourned as if dead, when in reality they’d been turned into the very monsters they feared.

She gazed toward Oghren, who was walking just a few steps ahead of them. He’d taken the lead through the only open path after they defeated the broodmother. He had said nothing since they left the breeding chamber... but he didn’t have to say a word at all. They all knew that if what Hespith said was true, then Branka had done something terrible.

After an hour of walking, pillars made of quartz emerged, covered in more dwarven lore that spoke of the fortress' past. There was an opening at the end of the hallway, lit up by a yellow light. “This place looks familiar,” Shale commented, observing their surroundings.

A distant laugh made them pause, the sound of a battle reaching their ears.

“There are darkspawn ahead..." Alistair said.

Everil sent him a puzzled glance. “But who’s fighting them?”

There was another laugh, much clearer this time.

“That’s…” Oghren took a step, surprise dawning on him. And he ran, following the sound while the Wardens and the others went after him. 

They stepped out of the cave and into another enormous chamber, finding several darkspawn lying dead on the ground. Dwarven warriors were beside them, appearing to have died recently at the hands of the same monsters while small fires burned beside their bodies. The group then turned their heads toward another bout of laughter, puzzlement etched over their faces. 

A dwarven woman clad in steel plate armor and wielding a greatsword stood behind a barricade and on higher ground, blood staining her short brown hair.

“Branka…” Oghren breathed out.

Everil narrowed her eyes, more angry than glad to have finally found the Paragon.

“Oghren… Did you come to help me find the Anvil?” Branka asked with a wicked smile. “I'm so close I can smell it!"

“What in the ancestors’ names have you done, woman!” Oghren looked upon the dead dwarves, some who he recognized. “You… Your whole House is dead!”

“They knew what they were getting themselves into. Each of their lives was spent on a worthy cause.” She folded her arms and lifted her nose, unashamed. “When I find the Anvil I will bring forth another golden era for Orzammar. We will be more powerful than ever! We could even take back what we lost to the darkspawn!”

“You fool...” 

Branka turned her gaze towards Everil, her smile faltering at the frosty look the Warden was giving her.

“You saw their numbers. There's nothing you can do to defeat the darkspawn, and you know it,” Everil uttered angrily, her hands closed into tight fists. “But instead of saving those who followed you from certain death, you chose to use them as stepping stones to make it this far. And they did as you wished, blindly throwing their lives away… because they worshipped you.”

“I take it you ran into Hespith.” Branka's smile faded as a saddened expression crossed her face. But a hard, unyielding stare swiftly replaced it. “She wanted to pull out. She wanted me to quit—to the point where some were plotting mutiny! So I did what I had to do.” She glared at her, her face twisting into a sneer. “And who in the ancestors’ names are you? A Grey Warden?”

“That’s right. Your king has died, and I was sent by Lord Harrowmont to look for you to help him become the next king of Orzammar,” Everil replied coolly. "But I must say that I regret wasting my time like this…”

Branka laughed. “They could put a monkey on the throne for all I care! My only concern is the Anvil. So yes, you did waste your time, Warden. I won't be leaving here until I find it!” She then turned her back to them, making her way up the trail she'd been standing on. 

“Branka!” Oghren called after her but went ignored as he watched her disappear into a passage above. “That stupid woman!” He punched the nearest metal barricade, gritting his teeth.

Everil’s expression softened upon seeing his pain. “Was she always like this?”

He took in a breath. “Yeah… She was passionate to the point of obsession. Always spending her days working to achieve the perfect creation. But that's what made her the best blacksmith… That's what made her a Paragon.” He huffed and craned his head to look up at her. “As a Paragon, she has to make tough choices when it's necessary. I'm sure you of all people can understand that.”

“Sacrificing your men like this is inexcusable. There is always another way,” Everil countered sternly, then strode in the direction of the only other cave in the chamber. “Come on, let's follow her.”

Oghren cast her a puzzled stare. “You want to keep risking your skin, even after all this?”

She paused. “Do you still want to save her?” 

“Yeah…” His eyes fell to the dirt. “I do...”

“Then our only choice is to help her find the Anvil and drag her out of here along with it." She continued on, the rest of her companions trekking behind her as Oghren stared in bewilderment at her retreating back.

He didn't know these people all that well, but he was beginning to understand why she was the one leading them. The Grey Wardens had bigger problems than helping a bunch of ill-tempered people choose their new king, but despite feeling strongly about what Branka had done, she was still willing to help. Perhaps they truly needed the dwarven forces against the Blight, but even then they could have simply returned to Orzammar without the Paragon, told the Assembly she had perished, and found another way.

When they neared the cave, more darkspawn crawled out of it, charging on while they quickly defeated them. Everil pushed through them, cutting down any in her path and advancing towards the next room. Soon they found themselves inside another building and surrounded by more ancient walls with dwarven symbols carved on them. Statues stood at each side like sentinels, looking onto the passage with frigid stares. 

They crossed to a door on the other side and Everil reached out to it, finding it locked. As she did, a strange gas erupted from the ground, the path they came from also sliding shut and leaving them trapped within. Movement behind them had them whirl around to see the statues come to life, their glowing blue eyes gazing their way.

“Golems…?” Shale uttered in disbelief.

“Stall them while I shut down the gas!” Everil shouted as she ran to the valves they'd seen at each side of the room, dodging a punch. Shale punched it, drawing its attention away from the Warden while she stormed towards the nearest mechanism. 

Everil turned the valve until it let out a click, shutting down one of the gas pipes. She moved on to the next as her companions kept the golems busy, dodging their hits while the stone men broke through columns and made craters on the floor. One hit could kill any of them, but Shale kept them at bay, punching aside their fists, striking them in the chest, or knocking them down. 

By the time Everil closed the last gas pipe, the golems lay motionless, the poison settling as they returned to the door. It was now unlocked, so she opened it and stepped through, closing it behind them. When they crossed into the next room, more golems turned to face them. One that was much bigger than the rest stood past them, towering over them, almost twice Shale's size.

Branka was facing it, a shining rod held in her hand. “I have conquered all you have thrown at me!" she cried out at the giant. "And now I have conquered you! Hand over the Anvil of the Void!”

The golem rose tall, lifting its chin as it stared her down like a man stares down a flea. “You seek my invention while ignorant of the price. I shall not allow it.”

“That’s… Caridin?” Oghren took a step, his eyes wide in awe. 

“We can benefit from the Anvil. We can become as strong as we were in ancient times!” Branka insisted stubbornly, meeting his glare.

Caridin’s attention then shifted to the new arrivals, his eyes glowing brightly. “You. You must help me. The Anvil must not leave this place. It will only bring ruin to those who use it.”

"What do you mean?" Everil's brow furrowed inquisitively at his words. “Why would it bring ruin to the dwarves?"

“We were in desperate need of a solution against the darkspawn during the First Blight... when my people sought my help. I created the Anvil and used it to build our army of golems—my children. The creation process was a mystery to the dwarven peoples. To all except for my king.” Caridin shook his head, his booming voice filled with regret. “The truth is that… To bring life into something that has none, one must sacrifice another's mortal form. I made hundreds of golems… Using the lives of brave dwarves who volunteered to fight against the darkspawn and imprisoning their souls inside the bodies of stone you see before you."

“What…?” Everil whispered in disbelief, her eyes shifting to Shale, who held a similar expression. 

“That’s right... I-I was once a dwarf… One who gave up everything to fight for her people,” Shale uttered with a troubled tone as if suddenly overwhelmed by the revelation. “The memories are coming back to me now…"

Caridin continued, staring at the ground as if ashamed. “But no matter how many I sacrificed, it was never enough. The darkspawn were still advancing, and our king was growing impatient. Soon, a river of blood was all that flowed through these very chasms… The blood of my brothers and sisters." He gazed up at Everil once more. "Burdened by it all... I swore never to forge another golem. My king didn't take kindly to my refusal to build more soldiers of stone, so he had my apprentices turn me into one… Only they were not experienced enough to fashion a control rod for me."

"What remains of my children and I have stayed here ever since, hoping no one would find us, some of us shackled by the rod she now wields. Now you know why I cannot allow anyone to take the Anvil… Whatever it is those who seek it need, it is not worth the price. Not now, not ever.”

“The ramblings of an old fool.” 

They turned their gaze towards Branka.

“If you will not give it to me willingly, then I will take the Anvil by force.” She smirked, drawing her sword while raising the rod.

“Stop it!” Everil stalked towards her, standing between her and the golems. “You heard what he said. This is not a game, Branka!”

“And who said it was, Warden?" Branka's stare darkened at her intrusion. "I want to make the ultimate creation! To give Orzammar its mighty weapons once more!”

“That will only cause your kin more pain and suffering!" Everil snapped, sky blue eyes piercing the dwarf’s dark brown ones. “Just think! You can still help Orzammar in a different way. The dwarves are already as strong and resilient as the rock itself. They don't need the Anvil to regain some past glory that is now long gone. All they need is each other and to continue building anew!"

A stunned Oghren listened to her words as they filled him with an odd sense of pride. She was right. Even after all the death since the First Blight, the dwarves have endured. By working together against their enemies, they were still strong. Formidable enough for the Grey Wardens to risk it all to seek their help in a war they couldn't win alone.

In a flash, Branka pointed her sword at her throat. But Everil stood her ground, unflinching.

“How cute of you to think I give a damn about what you say.” Branka’s psychotic gaze intensified as she spoke, her tone dripping with poison. “Neither you nor your pretty words will stop me. Now, get out of my way, Warden. Unless you want my slaves to pummel you into dust.”

“For Ancestor’s sake... Just let her have the damn thing,” Oghren stepped in, his shoulders tense and conflict in his eyes.

“No.” Everil unsheathed her blade. “No more dwarves will be sacrificed."

“Kill them!” Branka shouted, the rod glowing blue and imposing its will upon the golems around them. She strapped it to her back and gripped her greatsword two-handed.

A golem was already coming towards its new master, seeking to protect her from the Grey Warden. With a roar, Shale stopped it, punching its face and driving it away as Everil went for Branka, locking swords with her. The Paragon parried it to the side and struck, while Everil deflected it, then slashed high. Branka rolled with a huff, then cried out, rising to her feet and charging at her like a mad bull. Their blades connected in resounding claps of thunder as both women struggled for the control rod and the Anvil's fate. 

From the sidelines, Oghren hesitated, gritting his teeth. The woman he once loved and respected had evidently lost her mind, becoming a danger to them and to everyone in Orzammar. And considering what he'd seen so far, there was no doubt the Wardens would put a stop to her—at any cost.

“Branka give up!" he shouted, while the others around him battled the golems. "These people can kill you!”

“They can try!” Branka screamed as she repelled the Warden's sword, then slashed at her chest. Everil ducked and spun about, delivering a solid kick to her stomach and sending her to the ground.

She hopped onto her, swinging downward. The dwarf blocked. “Give me the rod!” she yelled.

“You little bitch…” Branka bit out, baring her teeth. “You think you can defeat a Paragon that easily!” She kicked at her leg, bringing her to a knee while forcing her weapon aside. Branka struck then, tackling her to the ground and grabbing her by the throat. Her sword came up, aimed at her head. Everil’s fist connected with her jaw, causing the blade to graze her cheek instead. 

Her knee collided with the dwarf’s back, breaking her resistance. And then she was the one on top, pinning Branka’s wrist as the woman also gripped hers. “Give up, damn it!” Everil snapped angrily, clenching her jaw. “I don’t want to end you!”

“I’m never giving up! Never!”

“Warden!” Oghren shouted as he drew his axe.

The shadow of another golem loomed over them and Everil looked over her shoulder to see it draw its arm. She clicked her tongue and swiftly rolled out of the way, dodging its massive fist as it swooshed over her. The golem then struck down, trying to squish her, forcing her to hop back as its punch cracked the floor.

With a deep growl, Caridin grabbed the golem from behind, holding it back and keeping it from attacking her. “Hurry Warden! Take the rod away from her!” 

Running in to help, Oghren swung at Branka, who blocked easily with her sword. “You should join me Oghren. Together we could bring forth a new era for the dwarves,” she muttered through clenched teeth, her arms shaking under the stalemate.

“No…” A mixture of anger and anguish filled his voice. “This isn't right, Branka! Just stop and use your damn head for a minute!”

“You disappoint me...” She glowered at him, shoved his weapon, and struck at his chest, leaving a gash over his armor and making him stumble onto a knee. His face paled as Branka let out a cry, preparing for another attack. And Oghren could only watch, shocked into place, as the one who’d once been his wife sought to bring death upon him. 

But death never came. 

She jerked forward and froze, horror painting her features before a sword’s blade burst out from her chest. A cough rocked her body, blood spouting from her mouth before more crimson trickled from the corners of her lips. Oghren’s eyes trailed up to see Everil standing behind her, the Warden’s glare filled with both anger and regret. She yanked her sword from the Paragon’s back and Branka dropped to her knees, a trembling hand over the gushing wound. “S-Sodded…” Struggling to breathe, she fell face down.

Everil bent over, taking the rod from her. Ans she thrust it up to the skies, the shimmering light exploding above her and commanding the golems to stop their assault. 

Bjorn barked at a golem that had its fist up, only to lower it and face that shining light. Meanwhile, Wynne and a panting Alistair gazed nervously at the two golems that had been swinging at them, the Warden having tried to protect her from the towering rocks. The stone warriors halted, then shifted their attention away from them and to their beacon.

“Thank the Maker,” Wynne gasped with relief.

“H-How…?” Branka croaked. 

Everil gazed down at her, a subtle frown creasing her brow. “You didn’t give me a choice...”

“Curse you…” she wheezed. “It’ll be… because of you… that my people will continue to live with the darkspawn… as a constant threat…” 

“The dwarves need not resort to sacrificing their brethren to fight back,” Everil uttered solemnly. 

“And you… You call yourself... a Grey Warden?” Branka coughed out a sardonic laugh. “Someone like you... A self-righteous… coward... unwilling to do whatever it takes to defeat your enemies… You… You don’t deserve that title…” One last breath escaped her lips as her heart stopped, her pupils dilating as the void claimed her. 

A brief silence followed and the Warden turned away from her corpse. The Paragon had once been a hero and an icon to the dwarves, brave and committed to a fault. She may have been wrong in her ways, but her ambition had never been out of greed, but for her people. And she hadn’t been able to save her from herself.

“Branka…” Oghren knelt before her, resting a hand on her head as her lifeless gaze stared back at him. 

“I'm sorry, Oghren…” Everil whispered, tightly gripping her bloodied blade.

He glanced up at her and then averted his eyes. “Me too…”

Alistair watched her with concern from where he stood by one of the golems. He could tell she’d been trying to help Oghren and the rest of the dwarves. That coming here wasn't just about getting the Paragon at Harrowmont’s request. They were to bring a hero home. Instead, she'd died by their hand. 

Everil strode towards Caridin, who waited for her by the Anvil. She stared up at the ancient Paragon, stopping mere steps from him. “The Anvil must be destroyed. As a golem, I cannot act against it. But you can,” he said, offering his mighty hammer. “Please end this.”

She paused for a moment, then spoke in an unwavering tone. “Before I destroy the Anvil, I need you to help me with my quest.”

His stone eyebrows rose. “A favor for a favor, I see... What is it you seek?”

“Orzammar has no king at the moment. Two candidates seek the crown. I need a Paragon’s help to elect the next king.” 

“I understand... I will use the Anvil one last time to smith a crown for the candidate of your choice,” he answered and shook his head. “I need not know his name. My time here has come and gone. However, whoever he is, should consider himself privileged… for he will wear my very last creation upon his brow.”

Pulling an ingot from the furnace, Caridin went to his Anvil. Hammer met steel as sparks of hot metal exploded with each strike, the piece slowly taking shape. Oghren quietly observed the Paragon work from afar, his heart heavy in his chest. He didn’t know if he should feel angry or grateful, but the conflicting emotions only added to his frustration and grief. He had lost Branka all over again, and there was nothing he could’ve done to stop it.

“Those in Orzammar will remember her for who she was.” Alistair’s voice reached him as the Warden approached him, coming to stand beside him. 

“You may be right... provided they don't find out what happened here,” Oghren grumbled tiredly, producing a flask of liquor from his bag. He took a swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Guess your fellow Warden made the right decision...”

“Not lightly...” Alistair’s stare shifted to her back.

“I know...”

Once Caridin finished with his work, he returned to the Warden, a shimmering crown between his massive hands. Everil gingerly took it, admiring its rugged design as she held it. “Thank you…”

“I have fulfilled my end of the bargain.” He offered her his hammer once again. “Now, please fulfill yours.” 

She discarded the control rod, letting it clatter to the ground before taking a moment to tie the crown to her belt. Her fingers wrapped around the hammer’s hilt, her muscles flexing as she held it. Its weight was as great as the responsibility that came along with it. 

Shale stared in silence as the Warden stepped up to the Anvil that had cursed her with an immortal body. A body where she was a prisoner, meant for an eternity of servitude. In a way, this woman was giving them closure and putting an end to the only instrument capable of bringing the same fate to others.

With a grunt, Everil raised the hammer high above her head, then released a cry as she brought it down with all her might. A crack split the Anvil from where the hammer hit, shining a bright blue before the metal shattered, crumbling as if made of glass. The hammer slammed to the ground by her feet as she stared solemnly at the rubble.

“You have my deepest gratitude…” Caridin said to her as he stomped past her, heading for the edge of the cliff before them. “I wish you luck in your quest against the Blight, Grey Warden.”

“Thanks…” she whispered in return before he cast himself into the river of molten metal in the depths below. Now freed from the Anvil's power, the other golems followed him, plunging to their deaths. Finally able to rest after centuries of enslavement. 

Heavy steps approached her from behind as Shale came to stand beside her. 

“You won't join them?” Everil questioned quietly.

“No…” Shale replied, an almost imperceptible smile on her rigid face. “I have found my purpose.” 

“You have?” She looked up at her. “What is it?”

“Helping…  _ you…  _ defeat the Blight.”

Everil let a corner of her lip go up. “Thank you, Shale...”

With their quest fulfilled, the party made their way back through the ruins, dirty and exhausted. Leaving the deep roads behind and carrying the crown that would bring victory to Orzammar’s new king.


	24. The King of Orzammar

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ T _ _ he dwarves called the Assembly _ into session the moment the Grey Wardens arrived from the Deep Roads. And this time, Everil stood at the center of the chamber, acting as Paragon Cardin’s messenger while holding the crown meant for his chosen king. Her companions stood at the sidelines, still covered in blood and sweat from their last endeavor, just as she was. They were all exhausted, but she wished for nothing more than to put an end to the charade and secure the dwarven forces they needed.

“Grey Warden Everil. You claim to speak in Paragon Caridin’s name?” one of the dashyrs questioned. 

“Yes.” Her firm gaze held not a sliver of doubt. “I spoke to him in the Deep Roads while searching for Paragon Branka.”

“How is that even possible?” asked a female with skepticism. “Caridin was a Paragon, but he disappeared centuries ago. That he had lived this long is… doubtful.”

Everil didn’t waver. “He’d been turned into a golem by your then king. His purpose was to guard the Anvil of the Void… to protect it.”

“I see…” The same woman leaned forth, hands clasped over the massive, stone table.“Does that mean you found the Anvil?”

“I did… But the Anvil turned out to be a monstrous creation that even Cardin himself wanted gone,” she answered, her eyes moving around the room, meeting their judging stares. “Many dwarves were sacrificed on it, turned into the golems your kin used against the darkspawn during the First Blight. Such a thing would be too dangerous to keep within these walls, especially in the wrong hands. So he crafted this crown with it, then asked me to rid him of it in his stead.”

“Does that mean…”

“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “I destroyed it as he asked before he cast himself into the abyss.”

The dwarves exchanged glances, whispering amongst themselves. Then a man addressed her once more. “What of Paragon Branka? Lord Harrowmont tasked you with finding her, yet here you are.”

A brief pause followed as Everil lowered her head in contemplation. Oghren waited anxiously from where he stood, bushy brows meeting at the bridge of his nose. Her next words could forever change Orzammar’s memory of Branka and what she’d done for their kingdom. For better or for worse.

“We found the bodies of Paragon Branka and her entire House on our way to the Dead Trenches…” Her gaze went up to the Assembly, her confident voice resonating within the room. “They were not aware of the costs of wielding the Anvil’s power when they gave their lives valiantly to reach it, in hopes to bring it back to the people of Orzammar. My companions and the documents we brought with us can attest to this, as well as detail the trail we followed to reach the Anvil.” 

Oghren’s eyes widened. There was no reason for her to lie, but she sought to keep Branka’s image as it was before, rather than reveal what truly happened. Whether she was doing it for his sake or for that of the other dwarves, he didn’t know. But he couldn’t help but appreciate her effort to keep their faith in Branka alive despite everything she’d done near the end of her life.

A pat on the shoulder had him look up to Alistair, who was standing beside him, speaking quietly. “I told you she wouldn’t let you down.”

“Yeah…” Oghren muttered back. “Boss lady has a good heart...”

“She does, indeed,” Wynne added from his other side, smiling at him.

Another dashyr sadly shook his head. “Such a shame… We could have used the Anvil. And Paragon Branka was our shining beacon of hope… But she will be honored, as all Paragons should.”

“That still does not prove that what you claim about Paragon Caridin is true.” The female from before eyed her with suspicion. “How can you prove to us that what you say is the truth?”

“Here…” Everil walked up to the Assembly’s old steward, offering him the crown. “See for yourself.”

Wrinkled fingers grasped the heavy piece of steel as he inspected the details. “By the Ancestors…”

“What is it Bandelor?” the woman asked expectantly.

“She speaks the truth. This was forged by Caridin himself! His insignia is right here, molded into the metal.” He gave the crown to her, her eyes growing wide upon seeing the trademark symbol.

“I… cannot believe it,” she whispered in awe, her gaze reverting to the Grey Warden. “Who… Who did Caridin choose?”

Never had she possessed the ability to influence the political processes of an entire kingdom. But from her dealings with him, she was confident that Harrowmont had the temperance to rule Orzammar and its people. She glanced towards the man in question, his sage eyes meeting hers from his position at the side of the chamber.

Now all she had to do was speak.

“He chose Lord Harrowmont.”

“What!” Prince Bhelen stood from his chair.

“Silence, Bhelen!” Bandelor sharply intervened, halting the dwarf's protests. Then he addressed the chosen king. “Lord Harrowmont, step forth.”

Striding with confidence in his step and the poise of a leader, Harrowmont walked past Everil and to the center of the room, taking a knee before the steward. 

“The Paragon has chosen you to carry the Kingdom of Orzammar and its people upon your shoulders." He laid the crown upon his head, then his booming voice proclaimed, “Bow before your new king! King Pyral Harrowmont of Orzammar!”

Claps and cheers erupted in the room as the new king arose. But the celebration was short-lived. “I won’t allow it!” Prince Bhelen drew his sword, lunging at Harrowmont with a cry. 

Swift on her feet, Everil darted forth, drawing Elethea and blocking his attack before he could reach him. She gazed at him coolly, unconcerned by the savage snarl he was giving her. One of the dashyrs went to his feet, slamming a hand onto his table. “Bhelen! Raising your blade at your king is treason! Stand down!”

“You should do as they say...” Everil’s calm tone carried with it a dangerous edge. “We went through a lot of trouble to place someone on the throne. I’m not about to let you kill him.”

“Bite me!” he spat bitterly. “I am the one and only king!”

More men appeared from every corner, running towards her and Harrowmont, only for her party to cut them off. Alistair immediately ran one through, while Bjorn pounced on another from behind. Shale swung at two others, slamming them against a pillar, while Oghren swung his axe, eliminating one more.

Everil kicked at Bhelen’s knee, breaking his stance before plunging her sword into his gut. Blood gushed onto the polished floors, staining them a deep crimson as the rebel prince gripped her wrist. He groaned pitifully, then crumbled to the ground. She looked over her shoulder at a relieved Harrowmont. “Are you all right, your Majesty?” 

He paused for a moment at the honorific and then nodded slowly. 

“Traitors these fools!” a female dashyr condemned harshly. “Disrespecting our chamber in such a way… Take their wretched bodies out of here!” The nearby guards put away their own weapons and did as they were told, picking up the still bleeding dwarves and dragging them away. 

“Something else I must thank you for, Warden,” Harrowmont said before reaching for a handshake. “You will have our forces in the Blight, as promised. And you will always be welcomed in Orzammar.”

“My thanks, sire...” She sheathed her blade, then shook his hand. “I look forward to fighting by your men’s side in this war.” 

“We will be honored.” He dipped his head vehemently. “Watch yourselves out there. And call for us when you are ready.”

Everil bowed to him, and with their last task finished, she spun about and strode away. Her companions trailed after her, the guards at the door opening the gates for them to exit. With the dwarven military on hand, their chances of defeating the Blight were almost favorable. But there was yet one more resource they needed to better the odds. One that would prove far more challenging to obtain given the political turmoil churning on the surface.

Ferelden’s armies.


End file.
